


A[ T]ypical Romcom

by masked



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, It has John Winchester in it so I hope that's enough of a warning for emotional abuse, It's got barely any comedy in it, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Slow Build, Writer!Dean, but I mean it's just Dean being an emotionally constipated idiot not even angst, but not really, it's actually a heck of a lot more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 68,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masked/pseuds/masked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a guy who claims to hate chick-flick moments, Dean Winchester sure knows a lot about them. So much, in fact, that he's written books with them and actually succeeded in becoming the next best-selling romcom author of the century, some even dubbing him as the 'next Nicolas Sparks' (he still hasn't figured out if this was meant to be a compliment or not). What the general population don't know is that the romantic moments between the main characters are actually based on true events from the lives of Dean and his best friend, Castiel Shurley. </p><p>While he's even getting a movie deal out of all this fiasco, his parents and everyone else he knows still think he's leeching off of Bobby at Sioux Falls. Sam, the only one to know Dean is the mysterious Hector Afranian, keeps on encouraging him to tell Castiel about all this, and Dean's just a poor sap stuck in the middle of all these stupid conflicts that should stay in his books.</p><p>So Dean does what he always does whenever he's troubled; he writes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly this story doesn't have much of Sam/Jess in it so if you came in expecting an exploration of their relationship, I apologize for misleading you.

Dean stared at the blinking cursor on the word document of his blaring laptop screen. It seemed to mock him, the way it carelessly blinked in and out of existence. Maybe if he stared at it long enough, it would write his book itself. Take his ideas out of his head and weave them in some ingenious ways so the story would lead itself to a conclusion that he planned out.

He sighed, rubbing his face with his hand tiredly. He lifted his mug with effort to see that there was no coffee left and sighed again. He stretched his arms, wincing at the popping sounds his shoulders made. He slowly unstuck himself off the chair, his hipbones and legs protesting at all the extra pressure. He glanced back at the monitor again, the document still exactly the same as he had left it.

He let out a frustrated groan and walked to the kitchen. It wasn't that he had written himself into a corner, or that he had a writer's block. He just needed to get away from his computer, and stop staring at a limited block of space for a while, just stop _thinking_ about this novel for a short time. He rinsed out the coffee stain from the mug and stared at the wall right above the sink, staying that way for a few minutes with his mind not particularly on anything. He blinked and sighed again, rushing back to reality.

He needed a distraction. He'd been writing non-stop for the past three hours, and his head felt short of a fuse. Or something. That was a weird expression. Was that even the right expression? It didn't even make any sense. What the hell did short of a fuse even mean—

More proof that he should just screw writing for tonight and go to sleep. Tomorrow was one of the days that he went to help out at Bobby's since he didn't want to be stuck in this hellhole called his apartment the whole day again tomorrow. Just like he was today. And yesterday. And the day before that.

Sounded like he really needed human interaction. And the sun. Wow, how long had it been since he'd seen the sun?

He sat back down in front of his computer and logged onto Skype. No harm from checking if anybody was online before bed, right? Not that anybody _would_ be online since normal people had normal sleeping patterns and wasn't up at—

`Dean: dude, what the hell are you doing still up? [4:31AM]`

Dean watched while nibbling on his bottom lip. Maybe he fell asleep by the computer with Skype on again? The little pencil on the bottom soon proved him wrong as it suddenly appeared, and vigorously scribbled out whatever the response was.

`Castiel Shurley: I'm having some difficulties uploading my students' test marks onto the school website so I'm trying to figure out the problem. I should be the one to ask you that question, Dean. Isn't it past 4 o'clock there? [4:32AM]`

Dean snorted at the response.

`Dean: can't you do that tomorrow or something? I thought you had morning lectures on thursdays [4:32AM]`

`Dean: and like, two lectures after that [4:32AM]`

`Dean: you're gonna fall asleep while you're lecturing about your history crap and your students are gonna finally realize how boring the course they're taking is [4:33AM]`

`Castiel Shurley: I'm capable of staying up until 2 in the morning and be able to function the following day. I shouldn't have to remind you that at least I was able to pull all nighters during college without collapsing the next day, unlike someone in this conversation who isn't me. [4:34AM]`

`Dean: oh shut up, you smug bastard [4:34PM]`

`Castiel Shurley: I want my students to know their quiz marks before the midterm so they can ask me or see me during office hours for any problems to be prepared. You still haven't answered my question. [4:35AM]`

Dean bit his tongue lightly before typing out his response. The same routines, the same lies. 

`Dean: I fell asleep on the couch [4:36AM]`

`Dean: just woke up now and couldn't get back to sleep so I thought I'd check if anyone was up for a chat [4:36AM]`

`Dean: didn't actually expect anyone to be awake though [4:36AM]`

`Castiel Shurley: Aren't you working tomorrow? [4:37AM]`

`Dean: yeah? [4:37AM]`

`Castiel Shurley: Go back to sleep, Dean. [4:37AM]`

`Dean: I will, soon [4:37AM]`

`Castiel Shurley: I don't want you to lose a finger because you're sleep deprived and weren't paying attention. [4:37AM]`

`Castiel Shurley: Again. [4:37AM]`

`Dean: I won't!!! [4:38AM]`

`Castiel Shurley: Right. Because you did so well the last time. [4:38AM]`

`Dean: ONE TIME, CAS!!! ONE TIME!! LET IT GO, JESUS [4:38AM]`

`Castiel Shurley: Never :) [4:38AM]`

`Dean: that smiley just made that a lot more ominous than it should be [4:38AM]`

`Castiel Shurley: Good. [4:39AM]`

`Castiel Shurley: Well, I've figured out what I was doing wrong so I'm heading to bed. [4:50AM]`

`Dean: alright [4:50AM]`

`Dean: night, cas [4:50AM]`

`Castiel Shurley: Good night, Dean. Go to bed soon. [4:50AM]`

Dean rolled his eyes with a little smile still on his lips as he watched Cas's icon turn from a green to a grey, going offline. Dean scrolled back up and lazily reread their short conversation, his gloomy feelings already gone and replaced by a giddy little squeeze in his stomach.

He let out a little sigh, this time in contentment, and turned off his laptop.

 

* * *

 

"Have you talked to Cas recently?"

Dean didn't miss the teasing in Sam's voice. He was taking a break just outside of Bobby's garage as he enjoyed his lunch when Sam dropped a social call. "Yeah," he dragged. "I did, last night. What about it?"

"Did he say anything to you?" he asked casually. Too casually.

Dean frowned. "He told me he was putting marks up or something. Why?"

"Oh." Sam sounded a little disappointed. "Okay."

"Sam." Dean squeezed the phone a little. "What do you know that I don't know?"

"Nothing," Sam laughed. "Actually, that's a lie. I know a lot of things that you don't know."

"Spill it, Sasquatch," he said around a bite of his sandwich.

"You know gossiping counts as girly, right? It kinda goes against the whole overcompensating manly macho look you're going for."

"This ain't gossiping! This is—" Dean squinted at the direct sunlight hitting his face. "This is information collecting. And I'm not overcompensating."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, okay. That's why you help out at Bobby's when you can basically live off of your writing now."

"You _know_   why I need this job. "

"Whatever." Dean could imagine the Sam-eyeroll, a package deal with that tone. "How's that going by the way? Your current novel?"

Dean glanced at his surroundings. Bobby was in his office, and nobody else was within earshot. "Pretty good, I guess," he said. "And the movie's suppose to come out for Valentine's."

"Dean, that's great!" Sam said brightly. "The fact that it's coming out on Valentine's just shows how much of a real romcom writer you are—"

"Shut the hell up," Dean replied with no real menace. He shut his eyes, soaking up Sam's laughter in bliss as it carried through the phone.

"I'm serious, though," Sam said after sobering up a little. "Really. I'm proud of you."

Dean broke into a smile despite himself. "Thanks, Sam."

"So, uh. Cas still doesn't know?"

And there went the good feelings. "No," he hissed. "And he's never going to find out as long as  _you_ keep your piehole shut."

"I'm just saying," Sam said slowly. "You can't keep him in the dark forever. I mean, you're a pretty popular novelist now, pseudo name or not, and Cas isn't exactly the dumbest guy in the room."

"I'm popular with  _girls_. As long as he doesn't poke around, which he won't because I've never seen that guy pick up a romcom in his whole life, he'll never know. Even then, it's not like it's _that_ obvious." He felt the flush creeping on his face, but he ignored it. "There're just... snippets of stuff based on us."

"Yeah, snippets," Sam said dryly. "Only the romantic parts of the novels where your protagonist bonds with the love interest. No big deal, right?"

"Yeah, well," Dean mumbled. "Maybe they're not meant to _be_ romantic. Not my fault if people misinterpret it as romantic moments between a guy and a girl." He grinned. "Besides, you're doing friendship wrong if people haven't mistaken you and your best friend as a couple at least once in your life."

"Except you actually, you know. Like him."

Dean scowled. "Not that way."

"Riiiiiight." He sighed inwardly, not wanting to fight against Sam's unconvinced tone. Maybe one day he'll convince the kid. "Well, I've got to get to my next client. I'll talk to you tonight, maybe?"

"Sounds good." 

"Jess says hi, by the way. Tell Cas and Bobby we said hi," Sam said quickly. "Bye, Dean!"

"Later, Sam."

Dean tapped his fingers idly on his phone as he pondered over whether he should text Cas or not. It was just a friendly text. Nothing else.

He scrubbed his face with his free hand in mild frustration directed at himself. For God's sake, he'd known Cas since he was a sophomore in high school. It wasn't like he was confessing his undying love for him or anything equally stupid Sam thought he should do. He didn't even like Cas that way. He never had, and never will.

He knew better that. Dean wasn't stupid.

Besides, he was just saying hi. And see if he was tired from last night. And maybe wanting to know how his day's been going. And maybe because he was a little curious on what he was up to now, even though it was probably more boring history researching crap or whatever it was professors at big shot universities did.

Only saying hi. Nothing wrong with that. 

**[12:05PM] Sam and Jess say hi.**

Dean stared at his sent words before shoving the phone into his pocket. Cas was probably in another lecture right now. It would be stupid of him to think that he would be able to respond right away.

Sometime later, Dean banged his head against the hood of the car when his phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket. "For fuck's sake, god damn it, _ow_ —" he hissed as he rubbed the back of his head. He glanced at the phone and his stomach did a cartwheel as he noticed the name of the sender.

_[3:20PM] It seems a bit silly that Sam gives his regards to me through you when we live two blocks away from each other._

Yeah, lucky him. He quickly texted back, racing against time. Cas's next lecture started at three thirty if he remembered correctly (so one thirty where Cas was), and he didn't have much time left until then.

**[3:22PM] It's cuz Sam's a weird freak. Also, your poor students who have to starve through your lecture during lunchtime.**

_[3:25PM] They're allowed to bring food. Now stop distracting me so I can set up my laptop and start the lecture._

He thought of everything unpleasant to make the fluttering in his chest go away and wipe off the stupid grin he knew he had on his face before someone caught him. This was getting ridiculous.

He yawned and tears stung his eyes. He'd fallen asleep around five thirty last night (morning?) and forced himself awake at eight this morning. He really needed to remember that he wasn't in college anymore. Not that he felt much better back in college when he stayed up like last night, but it was taking a much bigger toll on him today. He closed his eyes and sighed, wishing he could fall asleep like this.

"If you ain't gonna work, then go back home and sleep. You look exhausted."

Dean's eyes fluttered open in surprise. "Not tired," he mumbled. "Just restin'. Don't get your panties in a twist."

Bobby rolled his eyes and handed him a cold bottle of water, which he gratefully accepted. He chugged half the bottle in one go. "You look like hell just bent you over and did you no good."

That startled a laugh out of him. "I'm fine, Bobby."

Bobby studied him dubiously and let out a sigh. "Idjit. You goin' back to Lawrence for Thanksgiving?"

Dean shrugged, thankful for the change of subject. "Uh, probably. You gonna join us this year? Mom says she misses you."

"I'll have to see. What 'bout Sam? You heard from him about it yet?"

"I haven't asked him what he's planning on doing, but yeah, probably? You know how it is with holidays in our family."

Bobby sighed again. "Yeah, I know. 'ts why I'm askin'. It's his first year at the job, so he might not even make it for Thanksgiving."

Dean cocked his eyebrows. "Is that what Sam said?"

"It's called figuring things out with common sense," said Bobby as he walked back into his office. "You might be in for another shitstorm, son."

 

* * *

 

"What do you mean you can't come?" Dean ground out, rubbing his temples.

"You know exactly what I mean, Dean," replied Sam's voice. "I can't take time off this year. I just got this position and I don't wanna screw things up. And I... might've told Jess' family that I was going to join them for Thanksgiving."

Dean sunk into his couch, willing himself to calm down. "Do mom and dad know about this?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

There was silence on the other end.

Dean sighed. "You gotta tell 'em eventually, Sam. They're gonna wanna know why you're going to be missing out on a family holiday."

"I know," Sam mumbled. "It's just, why can't I go over to my girlfriend's family's place for Thanksgiving like every other person without having some sort of a nuclear war freakout? It's not like it's the end of the world if I miss one Thanksgiving with the family, you know? I mean yeah, family's important, but I want my own damn life too."

"Sam," Dean closed his eyes. "You know how they are."

"I don't _care_ , Dean! Dad's been keeping us on a chain ever since we were kids, and I was never, _never_ allowed to make any choices for myself until I escaped to college. Well, I'm done with that kind of life."

"They just want what's best for us—"

Sam barked out a bitter laugh. "It's fucked up, is what it is. They just think we can't make decisions by ourselves because we're what? Still babies? Screw that, Dean!"

Dean suddenly felt exhausted. Today wasn't the best day ever, but it wasn't a bad day. Until this. "Okay."

"What?"

"I said, okay. Do what you want. I get it."

"Dean—"

He cut him off. "But you call them and tell them properly," he said. "I'm not going to be any part of this."

"Yeah, I know. I will."

Dean picked at the ends of his t-shirt. He wished he could sound that sure. "Okay," he choked out. "I'm gonna go."

"Dean, wait."

"What?"

"I'm sorry I can't be there for the shit you're gonna get from dad," Sam said apologetically. "Why don't you just tell him about the books? I'm sure he would be happy to hear that you have a job with a better income than working for Bobby. You know only really bigshot authors get movie deals. Maybe we're just making too big of a deal out of this."

"And I'm pretty sure you don't actually believe a word you're saying," Dean replied.

Sam sighed. "No, I don't."

"Bye, Sam."

Sam hesitated a little, before he hung up with a, "I'll talk to you later."

With a click, Dean's mind became blank. He curled into his couch and just breathed for a little bit, not knowing what to do with himself. His phone suddenly buzzed and Dean checked it with surprise.

_[7:15PM] I just saw a lemon meringue pie on display at the grocery store._

He squeezed the phone in his hand a little, his eyes watery all of a sudden. If Dean didn't know any better, he would've said that Cas had some kinda super power that allowed him to detect whenever Dean was in a crappy mood.

Fuck Dean's life, right? He had to go and meet the absolutely perfect guy who he could never allow himself to love as more than friends. 

**[7:17PM] I hope you bought it.**

He held the phone against his forehead until it buzzed again.

_[7:19PM] I didn't. I did buy ingredients for my lasagna recipe that you love so much, though. I'm going to have it for dinner tonight._

**[7:20PM] Fuck you. Now I want lasagna.**

_[7:25PM] You're always welcome to come here and join me if you wished._

He stared at those words. Dean had thought about it before, but never seriously. Moving to California to join Sam and Cas would be amazing. Sam had suggested it when he sold enough of his first two novels that he could've afforded a decent apartment close to where Sam and Cas lived.

It seemed impossible after imagining how that conversation would go with John and Mary.

**[7:26PM] Ha, ha, hilarious.**

His improved mood crumbled again after being reminded just how far away Sam and Cast were from him. He wished he was back in high school, when Cas was reachable by a bike or by foot, and fell asleep on the couch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains John Winchester lashing out at Dean. Also contains a nonsexual intimate scene with dubcon element at one point. [Hover for spoilers/details.]()

> He gazed into her gaze as he drowned in her clear brown eyes. He hesitantly reached over and grabbed her hands, scared of rejection after all of this. She only squeezed back as they never broke their gaze.

Why did people pay money to read this shit that Dean wrote? Seriously, first draft or no, this was pretty terrible even for Dean.

> He cupped her face as he breathed her name like a prayer. "Heather."

Dean chewed his lips. He always had trouble with the kiss scenes. It wasn't like he'd ever kissed Cas before, so how the hell would he know how he'd react to it?

> She closed her eyes slowly without words and yet speaking of an open invitation. He leaned over and soon he felt her soft lips against his, and as if scared to break something fragile and _sacred_. Precious. It was a chaste kiss, and when they pulled apart, Heather's eyes were open again.
> 
> "Greg," she called softly. The streetlight contrasted against her cheekbones, hitting Greg with a realization again just how beautiful Heather was to him. A tear rolled down her cheek as she smiled. "I love you."

Okay, this was just stupid. They were both way out of character, not to mention how fake it all sounded. Dean erased the whole thing.

Dean stared at the page. He suddenly felt all of his motivation to work drain away. He let out a frustrated grunt, his fingers impatiently tugging at his hair.

"Fuck it," he muttered, and typed whatever came to mind. Fuck characterization, fuck pacing, fuck everything. This was a first draft, anyway. 

> Greg stood there, extremely awkward and uncomfortable. He was pretty sure his heart was going to leap out of his throat at any moment. "I never mean to lie to you about it, you know," he said, unable to meet Heather's piercing gaze. "I just didn't know how you'd take it."
> 
> "What did you exactly think was going to happen if I did find out?" Heather asked coldly. Greg flinched at the tone.
> 
> "Honestly?" He let out a humourless laugh. "I was hoping you'd never find out. I thought you'd be disgusted by it and never talk to me again."
> 
> "I'm considering it," she replied calmly. He stared at the ground, feeling completely numb at the words. "You lied to me, Greg. Why would you do that?"
> 
> "Because I love you," Greg bit out and glared at Heather, who looked startled at the force of the confession. "Because I've loved you for as long as I can remember, and it's been driving me insane, and I know you'll never love me back because I'm a pathetic excuse for a human being. I was... I was scared of crapping all over what we already have between us." He turned his gaze to the pavement. "You're someone that I want to be around until I'm dead, and I didn't want to screw that up. I still don't. You're too important to me for me to lose over a fucked up relationship—"
> 
> "Greg, look at me."
> 
> He looked up to see her give him the never wavering stare. "What?" Greg swallowed.
> 
> "No matter what you do and who you are, no matter what anyone else thinks of us," she gestured at both of them with a finger, "know that I have and will always love you. That's all that should matter."
> 
> He felt himself stiffen. "Really?" he asked. It was pathetic, but he needed confirmation.
> 
> "Greg," said Heather in that determined way of hers. "I love you."
> 
> He never had the courage to stand up for himself to love Heather the way he loved her now. But in the end, that really was all that mattered, wasn't it? Their love for each other conquered all, and for once, Greg had the confidence that things will work out.
> 
> She reached out then, and softly pressed a kiss against his lips. It was chaste, but Greg chased after her lips before she could pull away completely, grabbing the sides of her head with his hands firmly. She opened her mouth to invite Greg's tongue inside, tasting her as much as he could. He ran his fingers over her soft blonde hair, biting on her lips with so much need and want.
> 
> He only pulled away to give their lips a break as they panted against each other. Greg rained little pecks of kisses down her chin and her delicate throat, and ran his hands down below her waist, finally feeling those hipbones that drove him crazy

Dean stopped his typing, and read over the scene.

He erased the entire thing.

He then got off of his seat, and hobbled over to the bathroom for another teeth-chattering cold shower, letting the images of a panting Cas in his arms, flush with his kisses, fleet away.

 

* * *

 

Cas had spent the Christmas holidays of his first year as a Stanford undergraduate back in Lawrence.

That was the last time Dean had seen Cas in person.

That was just fucking sad.

Dean was currently working on the engine of a recent customer in the corner of Bobby's garage. It was always too hot out here, and he could feel the sweat drenching his back, his skin sticking unpleasantly to his t-shirt. He hit a sudden inspiration in his story last night, and he wrote like he was possessed all night, proving to be a really, _really_  bad idea in the morning when he woke up with the most god damned sore back in the history of Dean Winchester's sore backs. He could barely move without it hurting sharply like someone was jabbing a knife between his spinal cord and his hipbones.

A white car pulled into the garage; definitely not a regular. Dean glanced at it and went back to the engine he was working on. Bobby usually greeted new folks, anyway. He was only there to work on cars and look pretty. He grinned at the thought. The poster boy of Bobby Singer's Garage.

"Dean?"

Dean startled at the voice that shouldn't be here and banged his head against the hood of the car, seeing blue dots everywhere. " _Fuck!_ " He cradled the back of his head and looked at the figure standing beside him, who was owling at him. He blinked away the tears, and blinked away the way his treacherous heart leaped at the sight.

"Cas?" he croaked.

He received a warm smile with the side of his eyes crinkling. "Hello, Dean."

Dean gaped in stunned silence, and Cas's striking blue eyes blinked back (fuck he missed those eyes; webcams never did them justice). He was taller now, though Dean was still taller than him. The dark heap of hair that he saw through a fuzzy monitor few weeks ago seemed even more ruffled in person, and the stubbles on his chin seemed darker than it did against the light of Cas's monitor. He was wearing a black suit with a blue tie (brought out his eyes, Dean couldn't help but notice) in a messy sort of way, like he just had a very long day and he finally let himself loosen up. His shoulder and his chest seemed wider, more filled out than they were during high school.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" Dean finally let out, his heart beating in his ears. He wasn't hallucinating, was he?

"For the conference."

Dean shook his head a little and blinked. "What conference?"

Cas frowned. "I thought Sam told you."

Dean shifted his weight, trying to ignore the throbbing pain of his sore back. "Tell me what? Why are you here? Dude, what the hell?" his voice rose. "You were in town and you couldn't even give me a call, let me know that you were nearby? How long have you been here for? What—"

"Dean," said Cas, cutting him off. Dean glared at him, but listened. "I flew in just now because of a week-long conference that I was invited to attend at a nearby university, which starts in two days. I thought you knew."

"Obviously not," Dean muttered. "You failed to mention this over Skype because... why?"

"Sam told me he told you about my visit and that you told him that I should stay with you, so I took his words as truth." He narrowed his eyes. "I reckon Sam hasn't mentioned anything."

Dean shook his head in disbelief. Fucking Sam and his meddling. He'll give him shit for that later. "Dude, you could've just mentioned it or something to check with me. I mean, a little heads up that I'd be seeing you after over _ten years_ would've been nice." And he really didn't want his first impression after over a decade to be his disgusting sweaty self in a plain t-shirt.

Cas smiled, and took a moment to study Dean's face. "Is it alright if I stay with you, Dean?"

Dean felt like an overblown balloon, unable to control the increasing pressure in his chest as it grew from feeling so _happy_. "What kinda fucking question is that, Cas? 'Course you can stay with me. Hotels are fucking expensive." He almost reached out to clap him on the shoulder, but refrained himself from touching Cas. His hands were greasy and dirty from the engine oil. That was the only reason, he swore.

He frowned at the white rental car as he squinted into the sun. "You should've called me. I would've picked you up from the airport."

He turned back to Cas, whose eyes were flickering from top to bottom of Dean's figure before returning his gaze back to Dean's eyes. Dean was suddenly uncomfortably warm, completely self-conscious as he stood before Cas in a dirty grey t-shirt and an even more oil-ridden pair of jeans. He broke the gaze and turned back to the engine. "Anyway, I just gotta finish this up—"

His knees almost buckled at the sudden pain on his back. He gripped onto the frame of the car tightly and concentrated on swearing colourfully under his breath that would put most rappers to shame, vowing never to write without getting out of his seat for ten consecutive hours again.

He couldn't see his face, but he could practically  _hear_ Cas's trade mark frown. "Dean, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," Dean gritted out. "Just a little—" he let out a tiny whimper while trying to straighten himself. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

Cas was gone before Dean could even speak again. He came back with the words, "I told Bobby that you were going to have the rest of the day off. You'll need to tell me where your apartment is."

"Cas, no, I'm fine. Just give me some time—"

"Dean Winchester," Cas growled, and fuck, that really shouldn't be so attractive, "get in the car before I drag you into it."

A few minutes later, Dean found himself on the passenger seat of Cas's white rental car. He stared at the figure beside him, still a little baffled that he was just... _here_. He itched to reach out and touch, just in case this wasn't another one of his dreams.

The sudden sharp pain that had Dean double over his seat somewhat confirmed that nope, definitely not a dream.

"Dean?" He felt a light touch against his left shoulder. Dean recoiled, and Cas quickly took his hand away. He glanced at Cas's expression and almost took his hand to put it back on his shoulder.

"Dude, no. I'm disgusting," he said sheepishly instead.

Cas wrinkled his nose with a soft grin. "You do need a shower."

Dean felt an ache of need as he watched Cas drive with ease, his delicate but strong hands gripped around the wheel and oblivious to the heated gaze he was receiving. He sighed as he was violently reminded yet again exactly what he wasn't allowed.

"So, uh," Dean clasped his hands together firmly. "How are things?" he asked the glove department.

"I'm well," Cas's voice replied. "Glad that I'm finally here to see you again."

Dean chuckled, hoping Cas didn't notice how pained he sounded. "Me too, man." He'd missed Cas's bluntness and his straight-to-the-point attitude, but they never really helped with Dean's resolves, especially with his tendency to read too much into things. "Turn here. It's that apartment," Dean pointed.

After parking, Cas pulled out his suitcase ("Dean, I'll do it," he said irritably as Dean limped over to the trunk) and Dean led the way. He fumbled with his keys before revealing his apartment. It was on the 8th floor, which granted him a nice view of Sioux Falls.

"You can sleep on the couch. Use the living room as yours for the week," Dean said, throwing his keys on the living room coffee table.

Cas looked around with a slightly confused frown. Dean was almost nervous showing him the place for the first time.

"I don't mean to be rude," Cas said slowly, "but how are you affording this place?"

"Um." Dean scratched his nose. "Really cheap rent."

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm not an idiot, you ass."

"No, seriously," Dean laughed, hoping it was enough to hide his slowly rising panic. "The place was renovated before I rented it out so it looks nice and new and all, but this place is as cheap as dirt. I'm gonna hit the shower. You stay here and," he waved at the couch in his living room, "settle, or whatever."

He knocked into the couch as he tried to quickly retreat out of the living room (as quickly as he could manage with the god damned sore back of his, anyway), feeling Cas's doubful gaze following him until he closed the bathroom door behind him. 

He heaved a sigh and tried to relax underneath the steady beat of water on his shoulders. By the time he was done, he had about thirty possible explanations on how he was affording the apartment in case Cas pushed further, and about two of them actually sounding plausible.

His bedroom was right beside the washroom, so he slipped in and dressed quickly. When he hobbled out of his room, he was suddenly wrestled to the ground. Dean usually wouldn't have had a problem fighting back, but his _back_. He thought he was going to pass out from the pain.

"Jesus christ, Cas," Dean squeaked out. His arms were pinned to his back as he lied with his face on the floor. "The hell are you doing?"

He tensed as hard as an awkward 6th grader at a school dance when there was suddenly a weight on top of him.

_Dying kittens, leftovers after being in the fridge for a month, the smell after touching egg cartons—_  Dean let out a choked laugh. "Cas, what the fuck are you doing? Get off me, man!"

He felt a gentle but firm touch on his back and he sharply inhaled in surprise. The hand started to knead him, which startled out a moan from the back of his throat. "Giving you a massage. You can barely walk," Cas's voice rumbled in Dean's ear, and he bit back another moan from escaping. "Relax, Dean," he breathed, causing Dean to shudder.

_Smell of milk cartons, something, anything—_

It was really difficult to think of anything that could kill off the oncoming boner when he could feel the blood rushing out of his brain and head down south. Especially when he was constantly reminded of who was sitting on top of him by the soothing circles being rubbed into his back.

New plan. He needed a new plan. _Okay, okay. It's Sam. Sam's the one sitting there. Your gigantic little brother is giving you a massage because... I don't fucking know. Just because._

If there was a medal for being able to kill off boners with thoughts alone, Dean would be the owner of it. He was even starting to relax under the soothing, gentle but firm touch as he chanted in his head that it was Sam. It _did_ feel nice against his sore back muscles.

Then Cas decided to shift himself a little, and Dean's eyes fluttered in surprise with an embarrassing yelp mixed with an erotic groan as he felt Cas's crotch unintentionally brush against the crack of his ass. His natural knee-jerk reaction to pound the floor with his fist out of frustration had his arm twitching against Cas's death grip. His whole body was flaring up like a dog in heat and wow, really not the time for dog-related metaphors with the position they were in right now.

He had a flashing thought of rolling to the side so Cas would fall off of him, but that would reveal his now inappropriate half hard(not to mention really, _really_ uncomfortable) boner that he couldn't prevent in the end, and yeah, that one would be a little hard to explain to his best friend. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He bit down on his lips and focused his gaze on his hardwood floor, bracing himself for more of the pure, sweet torture that was Cas-on-top-of-his-ass-giving-him-a-massage.

The torture never came to pass as Cas's hands abruptly stopped massaging. Before Dean could crane his neck to see what stopped Cas, he felt a light pat on the spot he'd been massaged and the weight lifted off of him.

"Enough best friend privileges. I'm dirty from the trip so I'll use the shower now." Cas's voice said, sounding amused but also somewhat off. Maybe a little too high-pitched? He couldn't pinpoint what was exactly wrong with it, but before he could even register what had just happened, Cas was gone.

Well, whatever. Dean was too relieved to actually care. He heard the shower running and he almost sobbed in relief. It gave him enough time to take care of _this_.

He rolled over, still lying on the floor. He wanted to palm his dick and just feel the relief of touching it, dear _god_ did he want it, but he couldn't. He wouldn't. Not when the arousal was a result from Cas.

So he lied on the floor, letting its cold surface calm himself down as he listened to the pattering of water against ceramic, trying not to focus on thoughts of Cas who was currently naked and in his shower.

 

* * *

 

Cas picked up a package of wieners and quirked his eyebrows up. Dean swallowed audibly, snatched the package from his hands and put it back where it came from. Cas replied with a frown.

"None of those in the house," Dean declared as he walked away. "I hate hotdogs."

"Since when?" Cas asked, quickly catching up to him. "If I recall, you were happy with hotdogs at the football game we attended in high school."

"Since I said so," Dean gritted. "I want real meals."

"Hotdogs are real meals."

"No, they're not." Dean studied the block of cheese in hand, and tossed it into the cart. He rolled away into the snacks section, passing by the big chocolate displays for Halloween. There was already a turkey section for Thanksgiving, which was somewhat ridiculous. Who bought turkeys this far ahead anyway? Did people freeze them in their big exclusive turkey freezers until Thanksgiving or something? They were normal and not Canadian and had Thanksgiving during November thank you, not in the middle of October.

But pies were also always on sale around this time of the year, so Dean supposed he shouldn't give a crap about the misplaced mass of turkeys. "How the hell do you even remember what I ate at a football game over ten years ago? _I_ don't even remember it."

Cas picked up a bag of chips, honey mustard or some weird flavour Dean had never had before, and tossed it into the cart. Gross. "Because you were so excited about getting the hotdogs, Dean. You always were excited over wieners."

An elderly lady who was within hearing shot them a baffled glare. Dean eyed her back wearily as she walked away in a huff. "Dude, really? How old are you?"

"What?" Cas blinked at him innocently with a slight smile. "Younger than you, at least."

"Asshole," Dean muttered with a shake of his head as he walked away with the cart a little forcefully. "This is why I can't take you out in public and have nice things. Terrorizing innocent old ladies with your sexual innuendos. And it's not my fault I was born in January."

"Maybe she needs a new aspect on life, if that much can scare her off," Cas replied nonchalantly. "Maybe I helped her poor daughter's or her grandson's or her great niece's coming out of closet ceremony a little easier."

"Or maybe you made it worse by setting a horrible example," Dean pointed out. Cas shrugged as he loaded the items on to the conveyor belt.

Cas took his wallet out, and Dean blocked him from the cashier and shot her a charming smile. "I'm paying. How much?"

"Dean," Cas called warningly.

"They're my groceries too, Cas. You're not the only one getting fed."

"I am capable of paying for my own food," he insisted as Dean pushed him away to the end of the conveyor belt to the bagging area.

The cashier smiled as she took Dean's money. "You guys are really cute together."

Dean flushed in scarlet red. "Oh, uh." He glanced at Cas, who was bagging tomatoes into Dean's grocery bags while still sulking. "We're not, uhm." He let out a small nervous chuckle. "We're not like that."

"No?" She quirked her eyebrows as she handed the change. "Well, you better snatch him before someone else takes him then."

Dean was about to tell her that it was none of her business when Cas called. He quickly glanced back and forth between the cashier and Cas, and definitely didn't run away from her.

 

* * *

 

"Oh, my god." Dean slumped back against his chair. "I am _so_  fucking glad you're here."

Cas let out a huff of amusement. "I'm glad to know that our friendship is only appreciated when I provide food."

"Yeah, well, you know me," he grinned with a pat to his stomach. "Besides, I've been wanting lasagna since you mentioned it last month."

"Yes, I know. That's why I made it." Cas took his plate to the sink. "Do we want pie now?"

"My god, when do I not want pie?" Dean followed him to the kitchen. He frowned at him. "I'm suppose to play host, not you."

Cas rolled his eyes. "I believe our friendship is well beyond the point of playing host to each other at either of our places."

Dean raised his eyebrows in agreement when his phone suddenly blared. Something must've shown on his face as he checked the caller ID, since Cas called out "Dean?" all worried. 

"It's uh, my dad," he said, and that was all it took for understanding to spread over Cas's face. "Let me know if you need anything—"

"With written words, yes I know. I'll be all right for two seconds by myself, Dean. Go take the call," Cas said quickly, pushing him out of the kitchen.

He mouthed a quick 'Sorry' to Cas before closing his bedroom door behind him. "Hello?" he answered.

"Hey, Dean."

"Hey, dad," he said with overly fake enthusiasm.

"How are you, son?"

_Please don't mention Sam, please don't mention Sam, please don't mention Sam._ "Uh, fine. I'm good. How are you and Mom?"

"Good. We're good. Have you talked to Sam recently?"

Dean's heart sank. "Why? What's up?"

"Did Sam mention to you about his Thanksgiving plans?" John's voice hitched a little.

Dean shut his eyes close. "Uh, no. Why? What's up?"

"The boy isn't coming home for it," John said, the trace of any merriment gone in his voice.

"Oh," Dean exclaimed, hoping he sounded surprised enough. "Did he say why?"

"Said he made plans with Jess' family, because I guess his own family's not important enough for his pretentious self."

Dean clenched and unclenched his fist and watched the skin shift on his knuckle, trying to ground himself. "Dad—"

"No, Dean, I've had enough of that boy," John said angrily. "He's never cared about his family, not to mention all the lies he's spouted before."

_That lying was so he could get away from you, and I'm proud of him._

"He's _always_ put his god damned friends of his first. Not a single thought for his own god damned flesh and blood," he continued. "When the hell is he going to realize that family's the only thing that actually damn cares enough to look out for each other?"

"Dad, Sam cares—"

"No, he _doesn't_! Who treats their own parents this way, the one who raised you and fed you and took care of you until now?" John spat out. "I've done as much as any other parents could have done for you two, haven't I? Exactly what haven't I done that other parents could've given you?"

"Nothing, dad."

"I've done so much for him and he shows me no respect whatsoever! _This_ is how he repays me? Who the hell does he think he is?"

Dean said nothing. His words never made a difference anyway.

"And," John started. Dean gripped his phone a little tighter. "I understand that Bobby's been very generous and been giving you work at his place, and I'm more than thankful to him, I am. Your mom and I are also reassured that you're working there in case something happens, because it's Bobby and I'd trust him with my own life."

"Mhm."

"But isn't it about time you looked for an actual job that wasn't part time? You wasted your time and our money in college and you got that useless degree of yours, after all. All your friends from high school have real jobs, don't they? A _career_? _Making the most out of their lives?_ "

Dean felt the wrath and pain and grief all stab him continuously in the chest. He replayed in his head the happy carefree dinner conversations he had with Cas earlier tonight.

"So what the hell are you doing, moping around? At least Sam's _going_ places. You can't even do jack shit by yourself without Bobby. It's like you're nothing without us."

The stabbing became completely numb and all he had in his head was an image of Cas's face. Everything else seemed to have whited out.

"That aside, you'll be coming home for Thanksgiving, right?"

Dean breathed out softly, willing his voice to be nonchalant. "Yeah, I am."

"It's not like you have anything better to do, anyway," John laughed. Dean laughed with him. "Okay, I'll see you then."

"Yeah. Tell Mom I said hi."

"I will. Oh, one other thing, Dean."

"Hm?"

"Sam's mentioned that friend of yours from back in high school while he was talking with your mother. Kid with the weird name, what was it—"

Dean felt the muscle on the back of his neck tighten. "Castiel?"

"Yeah, him. You're not still talking to him, are you?" John asked almost casually, but Dean heard the underlying venom.

"'Course not, dad. I told you, I haven't talked to the guy since he left for college."

"Good, good. You know better now, don't you, son? Sam should know better, but honestly, he doesn't listen to anything I say these days."

"Dad, I know," Dean reassured him.

"You always were the smarter one. Honestly, Sam..." John sighed. "Anyway, I'll see you in a month."

"Bye, dad," he said with a smile.

Dean stood in the middle of his silent room with the phone gripped tightly in his hand, enough to turn his knuckles white, probably. His arm tensed at the thought of throwing his phone against the wall. Instead, he calmly pocketed it and allowed himself a few minutes before walking back out.

He couldn't help but bark out a laugh when he saw Cas sitting on the dining table with a piece of blueberry pie for both of them, waiting patiently for him.

Cas looked up at the sound. "I didn't know how long you would be, so I didn't take the ice cream out yet," he said matter-of-factly.

Dean shook his head, the disgusting feeling of loathing suddenly all deflated out of him. "Thanks, Cas, but I don't really have an appetite right now," he said with a small but genuine smile, hovering over the table.

Cas shrugged instead of commenting on Dean's lack of appetite for pie, which they both knew meant something was definitely wrong. "Eat anyway," Cas commanded. He got up and brought the ice cream, placing a scoop on both of their plates. Dean smiled a little wider at the gesture, and sat down.

They were halfway through their pie when Cas said, "So your father still doesn't know about me."

Dean paused his scooping and put his fork down with a wince. "Did you hear him?"

Cas put his fork down as well and looked up from his plate, meeting Dean's gaze. "No. I heard my name and you apparently not talking to me since I left for Stanford."

"Oh. Okay." Dean sagged with relief.

"I'm assuming he still thinks of me as the freak who hung around his son in high school," Cas said.

He felt a pang of guilt. "Yeah, unfortunately, he does." He let out a humourless laugh and lowered his gaze back to his blueberry pie and the ice cream that was now sitting in a glop of its own melting self.

"Am I that shameful of a friend?"

Dean snapped his head up, and saw Cas's lips quirked upwards in jest. He suddenly felt the urge to call John and tell him that Cas was here visiting him all the way from California, how he'd been keeping in contact with him the whole time and how he didn't give a fuck about what John thought about Cas.

Dean shook his head slowly. "Cas, you know it's not like that."

Cas sobered up. "Dean, I wasn't—"

"I know you weren't serious, but you're my best friend. Don't you ever talk about yourself like that," Dean said desperately, needing to have Cas understand. "I was never ashamed of you, and I never will be."

Cas looked startled, maybe at the sudden blunt declaration he wasn't used to from Dean. Dean held his gaze to let the weight behind his words sink in. Dean hoped it was enough to convince Cas that he wouldn't have it any other way.

For the first time in a long time, Cas was the one to break their gaze and shrugged. He poked at his blueberry pie for a bit before he started eating again.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean was dating Lisa at the time when he first met Cas. They needed five members per group for their English project, but Lisa was the only one he knew in the class and felt comfortable enough to form a group with, so he just went along with Lisa's friends. They were short of a member, and one of Lisa's friend in Dean's group who was also mutual friends with Cas—Anna—had asked Cas, and he simply agreed to join. The group consisted of himself, Lisa, Anna, Cas and Matt.

They were suppose to write some type of story with each paragraph (he couldn't remember the name now), with the descriptive, the narrative, the argumentative and.. the expository one. It was suppose to be a simple sophomore assignment, and shouldn't have riled up any type of trouble for any of the groups.

'Shouldn't have' being the key words.

Dean remembered it as a pretty fond memory because he could look back and laugh at how silly it all seemed now, but he also remembered wanting to strangle the life out of Cas back then.

They disagreed on, well, pretty much everything. They really weren't topics to be fought over, but Dean never had the tendency to agree without a fight, and hey, he wanted a good mark on the project. Both of them were too stubborn to back down, especially after sneering at each other's ideas. Lisa had ignored their arguing completely and worked quietly on her own part with Matt, while Anna stood in between them and kept on preaching something about 'agreeing to disagree with each other'.

"I hate you," Cas had hissed at him. "You're infuriating and I hope you come to realize how terrible of a person you are in the future."

"Wow, tell me what you really think, Cas." Dean had meant the nickname to be mocking.

Anna had finally pulled them both apart at that, and Dean listened as she dragged Cas into the corner of the room to talk not-so-privately. He caught bits like "what's gotten into you?" and "can't you just compromise, this is Dean Winchester" and a "it's a project, Castiel, not the end of the world".

Her words only seemed to backfire, since Cas only seemed more determined to fight Dean on every aspect of the project. Dean was pretty sure they wouldn't be able to get anything done at this rate, but fuck it if Dean Winchester was going to back down to this condescending asshole.

It was when Matt finally looked up from his own paper and rolled his eyes at them and declared, "Oh my god, you guys fight like an old married couple," that led both of them to shut up in stunned silence.

"No, we don't," Cas said after a few.

"Dude, what the fuck," Dean gaped. "I'm dating Lisa," he had said, as if that justified anything.

"Finally," Anna sighed. "For once you two agree on something."

They had glanced at each other at that, and heaved a frustrated sigh.

To be fair, after the presentation they received the best mark in class, so Dean supposed he should've let the whole thing slide. That didn't mean he had to become buddy buddy with Cas though, so he mentally made a note to never work with Cas again.

If Dean didn't know any better, he would say that Fate was shoving them together in a closed space until they got along.

One way or another, Dean always seemed to see him everywhere he went after that group project. Cas was his partner in gym class (that didn't work out too well; they both ended up in the infirmity after trying to outdo each other), he was his lab partner in biology (Dean never thought he'd ever have to fight so passionately for his stance on how to best present the process of glycolysis), they saw each other in the hallways, in the washroom (awkward), by their lockers (more awkward; they were _right across_ from each other), and to both of their surprise one day, they were even on the same fucking bus.

Dean spotted him as soon as he climbed the bus stairs. That was unmistakably Cas, cowering by the corner of the window seat and looking like he was trying to hide himself by pointedly not looking at Dean.

"No, seriously, are you stalking me or something?" he had asked the tuff of dark hair as he walked towards the seat.

Cas looked up with a frown and let out a frustrated groan. "I moved, you self-centered idiot. Trust me, I don't want to be in an enclosed space for more than three seconds with you either."

So Dean slumped down beside him, ignoring Cas's disbelief. "There are other seats on the bus," Cas said miserably. "Can we not do this today? Please?"

"I'm not trying to be a dick," Dean hissed. "The bio project is due next week, so you might as well come over and work on it."

Cas considered this, and crossed his arms with a huff. "Fine."

"Fine."

Cas ended up staying for dinner and helped out Sam with his Latin homework on the side while they worked on their biology project together. After that day, Dean found out that maybe Cas wasn't actually such a bad guy after all. He invited Cas to sit with his table at the cafeteria and his friends all got along with him pretty well, quickly accepting him as part of the group. He started coming over not only for school projects, often leaving right before John came home in time for dinner.

Lisa confronted him a few weeks after that.

"I need to talk to you. About Cas," she had said in a reserved way. Panic was the only thing Dean felt as he heard those words. _Was he found out? Did he not contain it enough? But he was in love with Lisa, wasn't he? If Lisa noticed, then didn't that mean his conflict was real?_

"Do you have feelings for him?" she asked. "Just tell me the truth. I don't want a wishy-washy relationship, Dean."

"What?" _Deny it, deny it. You're better than this. You wouldn't have feelings for someone else while you were dating someone already. Why would you have feelings for someone else when you're dating the girl of your dreams? Lisa is safe. There is less risk involved loving her._ "Lisa, I like _you_. Where did you even get this idea?"

She stared at him accusingly. "Have you seen yourself around him lately? If he was a girl, I'd already be worried that you were cheating on me."

"Lisa, don't be ridiculous. He's a friend, nothing else."

"Really?" she asked with doubt.

"Ye-es," Dean replied with a smile. He pulled her into his arms for a kiss to reassure her. "You know that I love you."

He did love her. It also acted as an added chain to bind himself from letting his emotions to develop into something bigger than a small "what if"s and "should I?"s. It was safe and cowardly and guaranteed unbroken bonds.

Cas had become too important to Dean at that point to lose over a stupid crush.

Dean broke things off with Lisa during the latter part of their junior year. It wasn't so much as that his love for her lessened, but their relationship was at the point where the distance between them grew so wide that the longest conversation they could have without making an excuse to leave first was around five minutes. So he broke her heart before she could break his first.

Around the beginning of their senior year, he watched as Lisa's friends congratulate her on her first year anniversary with Matt. Dean stared and listened and willed himself to move away, to leave the cafeteria before he did anything stupid like confront her about it, or before any of his own friends noticed his discomfort. He sat on the bleachers and stared out into the football field when Cas quietly joined him. He didn't remember what they talked about, but it wasn't about Lisa. He wasn't even sure if Cas knew, but he was just glad that Cas didn't bring it up.

Later that week, he told Sam. Sam was pissed.

"You deserve better than that, Dean!" Sam had yelled. "I can't believe she was cheating on you the whole time!"

"Well, no, not the whole time," Dean had replied quietly. "Like... Uh. I broke it off around March, so for like..." he counted backwards from March to October. "Around six months?"

"Six—" Sam stopped pacing around Dean's room and ran his hand through his floppy hair. "I'm going to kill her."

Dean shrugged.

"Dean, be angry! Do something!" Sam lashed out. "Why aren't you angry?"

"I was angry. I'm okay now" He shrugged again.

Sam studied him for a little bit. Dean barked out a harsh laugh. "I am."

"Dean, you can't just date someone for two years and then claim that you're okay after finding out they've been cheating on you for half a year," Sam said carefully. "You loved Lisa."

"Yeah, I did." Dean shook his head. "But why did I feel so liberated right after breaking things off with her?"

Sam frowned at the statement and he suddenly had the look of enlightenment on his face. "Maybe you met someone else?" Sam asked gently.

Dean's eyes snapped to meet Sam's knowing gaze. "I didn't cheat on her," he said sharply.

"I'm not saying you did. But maybe you just, uh, met someone you became... more interested in while you guys were dating," Sam said hesitatingly.

Dean scowled. "Spit it out."

Sam almost looked guilty as he chewed his lips. "You know. Cas?"

Dean froze in his bed. He thought of denying it.

Instead, his big fat mouth voluntarily blurted out, "I can't risk that with Cas."

Sam's face fell in sympathy, but he didn't bother him about Cas after that.

Not until Dean started writing.

Dean had always thought that romcoms were stupid. The main protagonists always seemed way too eager to declare their eternal love to their love interest, consequences be damned. They cared more about shoving their love in the love interest's face over caring whether the love interest wanted to just stay as friends, and not have to go through that whole awkward "I only like you as a friend and always will" speech. They didn't even think about whether they'd lose that special relationship they had with the love interest after the confession hung between them forever like a roadblock that never moved.

So it was irony at its best that Dean Winchester, the man who shoved all of his feelings for his best friend into his own Pandora's Box and refused to acknowledge it as what it was, became to be known as one of the best-selling author for the romcom genre under the name of Hector Afranian.

(to his defense, he chose the first two randomly generated name from the internet and took its first and last names)

At first, he just wrote about any type of stories that came to mind. He wrote about him and Lisa and Cas and gave the characters different names and different physical appearances. He gave the main protagonist the same conflicts he went through, except that they always had a happy ending set for all of them because they were characters in the world that Dean had created. Everything he ever wanted, he let it happen through them.

His writing style improved over the years with Sam who helped edit his stuff. By the time he was in his third year of college, he had a contract with a publisher for his first novel.

What started out as a distraction and a way to cope soon became something Dean genuinely enjoyed doing. He inserted all of the happy and sad "bonding moments", as Sam called them, into his stories and weaved them in with fictional characters who played the part. They were like Easter eggs for his novel, except that nobody else knew they were supposed to be Easter eggs, excluding Sam.

Maybe it was Fate again that Dean walked into his apartment after working at the garage to find Cas sitting on his couch, reading one of his books.

If Dean ever met her, he would tell Fate that she can shove it up her ass and bite him.


	4. Chapter 4

"Ugh," Dean grunted as he closed the front door. "This one car that was in today was a freaking mess. It probably would've been cheaper for the guy to buy a new car. What are you reading?" Dean asked as he walked towards Cas, who was sitting on the couch and paying no attention to Dean. He squinted at for some reason a very familiar looking cover of the book Cas was holding.

Then it registered in his brain.

Cas didn't even flinch at Dean's unmanly screaming as he stomped over to the couch and snatched the book from Cas's hands. Cas looked up and frowned at him in disapproval.

"You made me lose the page I was on," Cas stated.

"This—" Dean waved the book around. "You—"

Cas waited patiently.

"Why are you reading this?" Dean managed to squeal out, the book flopping in his hand as he waved it around.

"One of the professors at the conference was telling me how big of a fan she was of the author. She forced what she called her "travelling" copy on me," Cas quoted with air quotations, "so I thought I'd give it a try." He frowned as he watched Dean's arm that swung around in the air with the book. "She also threatened to hurt me if I harmed the book in any way."

"Wow, what the fuck was she _thinking_ —" he started hysterically, and stopped freaking out for a split second with his hands still frozen in mid-air to realize just how weird he must seem right now.

He cleared his throat and dropped his arms to his sides. "Because _honestly_ , I wouldn't be so careless with my copy. I'm a, a _huge_ fan of Hector Afranian."

Cas stared at him in half amusement and half curiosity for half a beat. "I didn't know you liked romantic comedies."

"You—" Dean drawled out, ignoring the question within the statement. "You like romantic comedies, though? Since when?"

Cas shrugged. "Admittedly, this is my first time really paying attention to the genre, but I'm finding that it's exciting enough to hold my interests so far."

"Oh. Okay," Dean let out a pained laugh, and threw the book back on the couch, wishing it would disintegrate on the spot. He walked into his room and pulled his phone out in panic.

**[5:34PM] HELP.**

[5:34PM] What's up??

**[5:35PM] SOME CRAZY PROFESSOR DECIDED IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO GIVE CAS ONE OF THE BOOKS I WROTE AND HE'S READING IT RIGHT NOW.**

[5:35PM] LOL

[5:36PM] HAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHA

**[5:36PM] SAM I SWEAR TO GOD.**

[5:37PM] HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHAH

**[5:37PM] Oh my fucking god.**

Dean angrily stomped outside and poured himself a cup of coffee. He gulped it down as he listened to Cas search for the page he was at. The couch was in the view from the kitchen, so he was staring at his best friend essentially reading about _himself_ without _knowing_ he was reading about himself. He leaned against the kitchen counter and took his vibrating phone out.

[5:39PM] Sorry, sorry. Which one is he reading anyway?

He scowled at the phone.

**[5:40PM] Fucking fuck, fuck you Sam. And he's reading the super sappy one.**

[5:41PM] You're going to have to be more specific than that. All your books are sappy.

**[5:43PM] Shut up. It's the stupid one.**

[5:44PM] Dean, I need a title.

**[5:45PM] ... _Your Beloved is Calling (Accept, Decline, or Video Chat)_. Why does it even matter which one he's reading oh my god Sam HELP ME**

[5:49PM] Oh, the one that starts off with the skype chats. The main guy and the girl used to play guitar and piano together all the time but they live too far away from each other so they cover a song together over skype for fun and they eventually get sponsored by Youtube because they become super popular and stuff, right?

Dean stared at the text in disbelief and took another sip of his coffee.

**[5:50PM] Why the fuck do you remember so much of the details? Jesus fucking christ.**

[5:51PM] That's just the summary, isn't it? There's a lot more to the plot than that if I recall correctly. And I'm preparing my best man speech for your wedding.

**[5:52PM] You do know that about 99% of the stuff didn't happen, right? In case you haven't noticed, neither of us are Youtube famous.**

[5:56PM] I know this was right after the first year of college for both of you. I know you were pathetic enough to purposely not go on MSN for 3 months just to see if Cas noticed because I was there to watch you. I know Cas's birthday fell on a Thursday that year like the girl in the book. I also happen to know Cas sent you a video saying something like "I wanted to send this to you because the guitar part reminded me of you" or something sappy. And you were super happy about it.

[5:58PM] I only know the part about you being happy because I read it, though. Gotta say, I still regret it to this day for ever thinking I wanted to know about your mushy ass feelings for Cas.

[5:58PM] Did you guys ever actually cover that song together, btw?

**[5:59PM] We never got around to it.**

**[5:59PM] SAM THAT IS NOT THE POINT**

[6:00PM] I warned you about this, Dean.

[6:01PM] This is karma biting you on the ass for not listening to me.

**[6:01PM] WELL WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSE TO DO?????**

**[6:01PM] TELL ME SAM**

**[6:02PM] FUCKING ENLIGHTEN ME**

[6:03PM] It's only the very first bit that actually happened, right? The most he'll probably think is how similar it seems to him in the beginning. And maybe the characterization, but you're supposed to somewhat relate to the characters for romcoms anyway, so you're good. It's not like you had any of your personal information released anyway, so chill out.

Dean stopped pacing around the kitchen, and opened his fridge to glance inside before pacing around again. Cas was too focused on the book to notice anything.

**[6:07PM] Ohhhh my godddddd what do I dooooooo SAaaAAAmmMMMM**

[6:07PM] Okay, you really need to calm down. Breathe.

[6:08PM] Maybe this is a good thing.

**[6:09PM] HOW IS THIS A GOOD THING I DON'T LIKE HIM THAT WAY THIS IS JUST GOING TO GET REALLY AWKWARD IF HE EVER FINDS OUT**

[6:10PM] Because you're still telling yourself that.

**[6:11PM] Okay, no, seriously. When he goes back you have to stop him at ALL COST from reading any other ones, capiche???**

[6:12PM]Why don't YOU stop him? Burn it, or something.

**[6:12PM] I can't stop him now!! I already told him I was a huge fan of the author.**

[6:13PM] Wow, vain much?

**[6:14PM] Shut the fuck up, situation called for it. And YOU'RE REALLY NOT HELPING.**

[6:15PM] I can't do much when you won't admit anything to yourself, Dean. Good luck, anyhow! :)

**[6:16PM] I FUCKING HATE YOU.**

[6:16PM] <3

Dean viciously shoved the phone back into his pocket, placed his mug into the sink and took a moment to himself, leaning his hands against the sink. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing for few seconds before he opened the fridge again, this time to cook dinner. "You good with having burgers tonight?" he asked, hoping his voice didn't betray him.

Dean watched as Cas flip a page with a thoughtful expression. Of course the asshole wasn't even paying attention.

"Cas?"

His head jerked up to meet Dean's questioning gaze.

"Dinner? Burgers?" Dean quirked an eyebrow.

"Hm? Oh, yes. You know I'm fine with burgers," he murmured and lowered his gaze back onto the novel.

"And you're good with baked potatoes for the side?" Dean asked. Cas didn't respond. "Cas!"

Cas looked up, irritated. "I'm at an emotional part, Dean." He waved his hands like he was swatting Dean away.

"Emotional part? Didn't you get the book today?" Dean walked over with a frown. He perched himself on the arm of the couch to glance over Cas's shoulder. "Which part are you at?" he couldn't help but ask.

"I'm a fast reader," Cas mumbled, flipping another page. "Lydia just played the song on the piano she wrote for Patrick to declare her intent to pursue him romantically and... I believe he's currently going through an emotional breakdown while he weighs the consequences of letting his feelings for Lydia run wild and going against his mother's wishes."

"Oh, that part," Dean said, staring at the words printed on the pages. "He—"

Cas shushed him in irritation. "No spoilers, Dean."

Dean snorted, a bit of tingles settling into his stomach despite the situation. He didn't know whether that was appropriate considering it was a spin-off of their lives Dean wrote without Cas's permission. "You're really into it, huh?"

Cas shrugged. "I like it enough to not wish to be spoiled."

Dean read the familiar words on the slightly yellowed pages over Cas's shoulder. He knew exactly which part it was after reading few sentences. "I hated that part," he mumbled.

This caught Cas's attention. He watched Cas in his peripheral vision as he turned his intense gaze to him. "Why?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

Dean remembered writing that particular scene. He had cried after he transferred it from his brain to his computer and destroyed one of his pillows in a fit of rage and frustration afterwards, at the unfairness of the world and overwhelmed with regret. He reread it over and over again until he never wanted to look at it again.

"I hate all the moping involved, that's all," Dean replied instead, and walked back into the kitchen. "Besides, Patrick's a dick."

Cas followed him to the kitchen with a frown. "You don't approve of Patrick."

Dean shrugged. "Guy can't even admit his feelings for her. The only reason why she didn't just up and leave him already is 'cause it's a romcom. Other than the fact that he's the main lead, he's pretty useless."

"He _is_ frustrating to read sometimes," Cas admitted. "His idea of everything going to ruins if he ever involved himself romantically with Lydia seems somewhat overdramatic and ridiculous."

Dean cut crosses into the potatoes and wrapped them in foils. "I think he's only being realistic."

Cas opened the oven door and Dean tossed them in. "I suppose there is the possibility of it," he said, staring at the book in his hand. "But what really frustrates me about Patrick is his inability to trust Lydia."

Dean stared at him in confusion. "What? Patrick trusts her completely."

"Not enough," Cas replied as he walked to the fridge.

"Uh, dude, you can tell he trusts her with his life from the way he talks about her." Dean leaned against the door of the fridge.

"Apparently, but not enough to trust her with the bond they have together." Cas opened the bottle of water and took few sips. "If he truly trusted her with all of himself, he wouldn't keep all of this from her."

"Or maybe it's 'cause he's scared of ruining what they already have," Dean pointedly replied. "What they already have is good."

"Yes," Cas replied, rubbing his thumb over the name of the author on the cover. Dean watched the movement, feeling exposed and vulnerable. "But I think they could have so much more if Patrick only overcame his fears and allowed it."

"Yeah, well." Dean cleared his throat and clapped Cas on the shoulder. "You're reading a romcom, Cas. You're kinda guaranteed a happily ever after."

Cas shrugged. "That's true." He seemed to be in deep thoughts before he turned on his heels and walked out of the kitchen. He slumped on the couch and started reading again. Dean cooked the rest of their meals.

After dinner, they sat in companionable silence, basking in the warmth of a full stomach, nice scenery, and good company. His dining table was positioned right by his huge window, so the sunset that painted the sky was visible like a giant moving canvas. Dean sighed contently, wishing this could last forever. 

"You should play something," Cas suddenly said. Dean ripped his gaze from the red sky to direct them at Cas.

"What?"

"The guitar. I haven't heard it in person since high school."

Dean could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. He rarely played the guitar in front of people. Even though he knew he wasn't bad at it, it was still pretty embarrassing to play in front of others.

Dean's heart thrummed hard against his chest as he grabbed the guitar from the closet, and he wondered how Cas couldn't hear it. This was far from the first time he'd played in front of Cas , but he was still nervous as hell. He strung the guitar for a bit to tune it as Cas sat down beside him.

"I haven't played for a while," Dean admitted.

"I'm not asking you to play well," Cas replied.

Dean picked at the strings absentmindedly, and proceeded to play the tune he originally learned for Lisa. Cas had found it at the time, and Lisa had walked into Dean listening to it after Cas had sent it over MSN. She had commented on how much she liked it, and since Dean also liked the tune, he learned it with the intention to please Lisa. She heard him play iy once, and Dean never played for her after that. Over the years, it had become a tune that he associated with Cas instead. It was familiar to him like an old friend as it poured out from his fingertips. He made few mistakes here and there, but he was pretty lost in it by the time he was done.

Cas hummed. "You've improved."

"I have?"

"Your rhythms have become much steadier. Play something else." He closed his eyes.

Dean snorted. "What am I, your personal musician?"

A smile spread over Cas's face. "You should follow me everywhere I go and play background sound effects."

Dean laughed at the image. "I should get a keyboard so you can play with me next time you come to visit," he gauged carefully.

Cas's smile widened into a grin. "Yes," he said softly, "you should."

Dean's heart gaze a squeeze in his chest at the sight, as if it was slowly becoming bigger in size. Barely managing to conceal his grin, he lowered his eyes and played a few more tunes.

 

* * *

 

Dean stood in front of Cas, who was buried underneath a heap of blankets on the couch. He eyed his book that was tossed on the coffee table before nudging Cas by the shoulder. "It's your last day here, man. You can't spend it inside all day."

"Watch me," Cas groaned, and buried further into the couch.

Dean huffed. "You sure there isn't anything you want to do before you leave?"

Cas didn't budge and Dean rolled his eyes at his best friend. Dude was known for never being awake in classes back in high school, and he sometimes still wondered how Cas managed to become a big-shot university professor.

"Anything?" Cas's gritty voice perked from underneath the blankets, gathering Dean's full attention again. Dean stared at the lump with a smile.

"Mostly anything," Dean replied. There was no knowing what Cas could come up with this time if he didn't give him boundaries.

Cas shifted and rolled to face Dean from below, his face scrunched against the lights shining through the balcony window. He had one of his arms slung above his head and the other one on his torso with his dark tuff of hair messy from all the tossing about. He eyed him up and down, his blue eyes still somewhat masked with sleep.

"I want to go to a bookstore," Cas announced sleepily.

Dean quirked his eyebrows up. "That's it? Nothing else?"

"I want to go to all the bookstores that you know of," Cas corrected. "And the ones you don't know of."

Dean widened his eyes in surprise and laughed helplessly. "That might take all day."

Cas stretched his arms, the blanket sliding off of his torso and arching his back. Dean steadily fixed his eyes at his black leather couch cover. "You offered the whole day. I'm suggesting an activity that takes up the whole day. I don't see the problem at hand," said Cas around a yawn.

"Well, hurry up and get ready then so we can have breakfast first," Dean laughed.

Cas sat up and scratched his belly with another yawn. He wordlessly nodded in response and continued to close his eyes, dozing away.

Dean eyed the wall clock behind Cas. It was 8 o'clock.

He'd be lucky if they were out by twelve.

 

* * *

 

They grabbed lunch at a nearby diner within walking distance. After properly feeding themselves, Dean whipped out his map that he had printed out earlier.

"Okay, so there are four bookstores within driving range." Dean turned to see Cas looking around Baby in awe. "Cas, you listening?"

He was looking around the inside of Baby like he'd never been in it before, running his hand against the smooth leather seat and stroking her with his thumb. "I'm listening."

Dean questioned Cas's behaviour, but that was a norm around Cas. "What are you doing?"

"I missed this car," Cas said fondly. He gave the glove department a solid pat, and Dean watched as an oddly placed fondness settled in.

He cleared his throat. "Right. Which one did you want to go to first?"

They arrived at the first bookstore, which was a small local one crammed full of bookshelves and books everywhere, its cozy atmosphere inviting both of them in. There were ladders resting against the bookshelves and displays of the month at each of the sections, the familiar musky smell of dust and old books in the air.

Dean snooped around the mythology section, flipping through the books on demons and angels and other theologies. He was always a bit of a mythology fanatic and it'd been so long since his last visit to a bookstore. It was nice to read something else other than his own writing for once, and they had a whole shelf dedicated to it.

Occasionally, he looked up from the pages to watch Cas slipping between the narrow corridors created by the smaller bookcases, his eyes roaming and drinking in the sights before him. He was quietly radiating happiness like it was nobody's business and Dean beamed at him until Cas noticed the gaze and threw him a small curious smile as if to ask, 'what?'.

His heart thrummed at the sight of it. Dean smiled back a reply of 'nothing' and quickly lowered his gaze back to his books, hiding the fluttering in his stomach.

Honestly, Dean was content with this. He wished his brain would stop reading too much into it, and for the little voice at the back of his head to stop asking if this was legitimate enough to be considered a date.

After some time have passed, Dean's ears perked up in interest as Cas's voice mixed with someone else's in a conversation. He put the book he was holding back into the shelf, and walked over to Cas, still nodding and talking to the shop owner in a hushed voice.

"Yes, I understand," Cas said to the shopkeeper, glancing at Dean in acknowledgement. "Thank you."

"No problem. Good luck, anyhow," replied the shopkeeper with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

"What was that about?" Dean asked after they stepped out of the store, the bell on the door cheerfully jingling on their way out.

Cas shrugged. "Nothing," he tossed out, sliding into the passenger seat.

Dean hummed, but didn't press it as much as he was tempted to. Cas was the type to slither out of an explanation if he was pushed too much into giving one. Besides, everyone deserved at least a little bit of privacy, and Dean supposed he shouldn't pry too much no matter how curious he was.

The next bookstore was a bigger chain store. They walked in to see the popular demands displayed all over the area, and Dean ducked his head when he saw his own section labeled _Hot Reads_ amongst the displays. There were few people circling the display, some picking up the book and reading the summaries on the back and some flipping through the content. Never had Dean felt more exposed than now.

As if that wasn't bad enough, Cas decided to walk over to the display and joined the few people already there.

"Um," Dean mumbled intelligently as he followed Cas. Some of the women by the display eyed the two men curiously before lowering their gaze back to the books. "Don't you have to finish that other one first, Cas?"

"I finished it last night," Cas replied as he picked the books up and piling them up on top of another.

Dean's eyes widened. "Don't tell me you're getting all that."

Cas stilled and directed his cocked eyebrows at Dean.

"I mean..." Dean gestured at the books, words stuck at his throat. He should've never written those damned things. "Why buy books where there's the library?"

Cas shrugged. "I like owning books."

"Yeah, but I mean," Dean smiled tightly, wanting to snatch the books out of Cas's hands. "You might not... like them."

Cas cocked his head to the side in question. "Do you think I won't?"

"I—" Dean flushed. "Why are you asking me, man? I didn't even know you liked romcom until this week."

"I'd love to help out," one of the women beside them perked up, and they both turned their attention to her. She glanced between Dean and Cas with a shy smile. "I'm a big fan of Hector Afranian."

Panic and happiness flared up at the same time, and Dean was conflicted between feeling happy for the compliment and wanting to stop her before she helped Cas make up his mind. In the end, he couldn't do much but helplessly step away to the side.

"Which ones would you recommend?" Cas asked her.

"Honestly, they're all really good," she said excitedly, picking up the nearest one. "Have you read any by him?"

"I've read this one recently, yes."

"Oh, this one's pretty good. I just," she bunched her hands into fists in front of her chest and smiled widely. "I love that it's a romcom, but the love interest isn't just thrust into the plotline as the love interest, you know? We learn just as much about them as we do with the protagonist. Hector Afranian is a brilliant writer. He has this amazing way with words and I wish I could meet him in real life to thank him."

Dean flushed brighter and pretended to idly flip through his book, looking politely uninterested by Cas's side.

Cas smiled softly at her enthusiasm. "You really are a big fan of his."

She nodded. "Sometimes I wish he wasn't such a private person so I could meet him face to face and tell him how much he changed my life," she said with a smile.

Cas stared at the pile of books in his hand thoughtfully. "I think I'll get them all, after all," he said to Dean. "I enjoyed his writing style."

"Uh, yeah. Okay. You do that," Dean replied, not able to look away from the book covers in front of him.

"Thank you for helping me," Cas said to the woman.

The woman laughed. "Anything to promote one of my favourite author."

While Cas walked away to the register, Dean glanced at the woman, who caught the glance and smiled politely. He cleared his throat and straightened, his heart on the top of his throat. The woman started to turn away when Dean made the last-minute decision. "Hey, uh."

The woman stalled in her steps and turned around again to face Dean. "Yes?"

Dean scratched his face, wondering what the hell he was doing. "You said the books changed your life. I was wondering, I mean, if you don't mind me asking," he mumbled out, wringing his hands.

"Oh." She studied him thoughtfully. "Did you read any of his books, or...?"

Did he ever. "Yeah, uh, I've read them all, too."

She nodded. "Well, then you know how most of his main protagonists struggle to confess their feelings to the love interest, right?"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, that seems to be the running theme in his books."

She grinned along. "I've been in love with my best friend for a long time, and I was too scared to do anything about it until I read one of his books. I got the courage to confess and it's been three years since. I'm happily engaged now, thanks to him," she said proudly, showing the ring on her finger.

Dean's heart squeezed at the words. "Oh," he let out. Oh god, he was pretty sure he was tearing up.

She frowned. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," he said quickly, wiping his eyes. "Allergies, you know."

"Oh, yeah, I definitely know. My fiancée has the hay fever every year." She rolled her eyes. "She has to stack at least three pillows up every night to get some decent sleep."

He huffed. "Hey, congratulations," he said quietly.

She smiled shyly, a blush creeping along her cheeks. "Thank you." She glanced to her side, eyeing at who was probably her fiancée, who was flipping through the cards by the card section as she waited for her. She looked back to Dean. "Well, I've got to go, but it was nice chatting with you."

They bid each other farewells, and by the time she left to join the brunette woman by her side, Cas was back by Dean's with bags of books in his hands. "Everything alright?" he asked.

Dean shrugged in response. He watched as the happy couple chatted, probably about mundane things. He glanced back to Cas, who was regarding him with a tilt to his head. How ironic it seemed that his fantasized life with the man in front of him gave courage to others to do something Dean was never able to do.

Later on their drive back home, Dean huffed at the sight of Cas, leaned against the window and snoring lightly. His mind wandered back to the couple from the bookstore again, and marveled at how he—the insignificant, good-for-nothing Dean Winchester _—_ indirectly impacted their lives. The fact that his writing changed someone's life so drastically... It was amazing.

He even let himself forget for a little while that Cas was leaving tomorrow morning.

 

* * *

 

"You sure you've got everything?" Dean fussed over Cas one last time.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dean."

"Well, alright, then." Dean swallowed his lump of disappointment down. He briefly wondered without much enthusiasm if he could stall enough for Cas to miss his flight. "Let me know when you land, or something."

"The plane isn't going to crash," Cas said with amusement.

"Don't jinx it," Dean snapped with a pointed finger.

A cheery female voice was announcing that all passengers heading to California should get on their plane in the next few minutes. Dean glanced at the ceiling, and snapped his head back to Cas when he called, "Dean."

Dean raised his eyebrows in question. A hesitant Cas was a rare sight.

"I can spare some time during the last two weeks of December as a Christmas break. I was wondering... Would it be all right if I came to visit you again then?"

Dean felt a sick churning in his stomach as the acid burned in his throat. He lowered his gaze to Cas's suitcase, wishing not for the first time to screw everybody else and let himself have what he wanted. "Cas, I... Don't get me wrong, I'd be fucking thrilled to see you again. But I've gotta go back to Lawrence to spend Christmas break with the family and..."

He dared a glance back to Cas's face, and grimaced at his strikingly disappointed look. "Sorry," he said softly.

Cas quickly schooled his expression back to his stoic self and shrugged.

"I'm sorry," Dean repeated, more miserable as seconds went by.

"It's fine," Cas said reassuringly. "It's not something you need to apologize for. I just... wish circumstances were different."

"I—" Dean's cellphone starting ringing and they both paused as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Oh, for crying out loud—"

Cas glanced at the caller ID and exhaled sharply, a humourless smile on his face. "It's fine, Dean. Answer the call."

Disappointment and guilt overflowed as Dean shook his head. "Sorry, Cas. Shit." He bit his lips. "Fuck, I'm really sorry, man."

Cas shrugged. Dean answered the phone with a click. "Hi, dad," he said as happily as he could muster. Cas gave him a sympathetic smile and pointed at the gateway to indicate that he was leaving. Dean gave him a small wave and a smile which he hoped spoke of an apology. Cas waved back and walked away.

"Hey, son," John's voice registered. "I haven't heard from you for a few days."

"Sorry," Dean replied as he watched his best friend walk away without even being able to bid him a proper goodbye. He wasn't even sure when the next time he'll see him again was. It could be years. Again.

"You not at home?"

"Yeah, I'm at Wal-mart," Dean said, finally ripping his eyes away from where Cas disappeared to, and made his way out of the airport.

"What for?"

"Ah, you know, grocery run."

"At 9 in the morning?" he asked dubiously.

"I ran out of milk," Dean said as the automatic doors slid open for him. He headed towards where Baby was parked.

"Jesus, what is that noise in the background?"

Dean glanced at the airplane as it flew over his head. "Don't know. Bad reception?"

They talked for a few more minutes. Mary came on the phone and asked when Dean was coming back for Thanksgiving. They said their farewells, and he hung up with a click.

He drove back in silence, replaying over and over again Cas's expression as he rejected his next visit, John's oblivious nonchalant greeting over the phone and the image of Cas's back as Dean watched him leave him again. The thought of Sam happily spending his Thanksgiving with Jess' family surfaced.

At the thought, he pulled over on the side of the curb, and slammed the car door shut as he scrambled out. Ignoring the tight, blunt constriction in his chest, he walked into the woods and found a long and thick branch from the evergreens that surrounded him. He gripped it tightly, feeling the bark dig beneath his skin.

He glared at the piece of wood and swung it as hard as he could to the nearest tree, startling some birds into flight. The branch broke with an unsatisfying snap, but he kept swinging with the leftover piece in his hand, peeling the bark off the tree. He threw the tattered branch away with all the strength he had left, not focusing on anything else but the sound of blood drumming in his ears and the way his heart beat against his chest.

He grabbed a stone, gripped onto it as tightly as he could for a second before he chucked it, hitting the tree trunk with a dull 'thunk'. He picked up another stone and chucked it again, his bicep protesting at the motion. He breathed heavily, his body still tense and angry. He punched the white gash he'd left on the dark evergreen trunk with the branch and the stones.

"Fuck," he breathed out, punching the trunk with every word. "Fuck this. Fuck you," he said, his voice slowly rising. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice ringing through the forest into a distant echo. He rested his forehead against the harsh bark and closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. He turned around, and slumped against the tree he'd been punching.

He rested his head against the trunk, staring out at the woods that never seemed to end. He wanted to talk to someone. He wanted someone to know, anyone, about his anger and frustration and share it with the rest of the world. He wanted someone to acknowledge how he was suffocating, like his life was slowly strangling him to death until he was left with nothing but a hollow void.

Sam crossed his mind briefly. Cas was out of the question.

He had no one.

At moments like this, he was truly alone.

Well, that was what writing was for, wasn't it?

He winced as he flexed his hand into a fist. His knuckles and palm were bleeding. He brushed the dirt from the bark off his palm, not really caring if he did it roughly enough to hurt. His breathing calmed down to a normal rate, but he still wasn't okay.

He bit out a harsh laugh at the thought. Dean hadn't been _okay_ for a long while, so he wasn't really sure why he would expect that from himself now. He banged the back of his head against the bark in frustration, and stared at the perfectly blue sky with its perfectly white clouds. They pissed him off.

"God fucking damn it," he muttered as he ran his hand through his hair, shutting his eyes against the sight. He scrubbed his face and squeezed his eyes shut until he saw blue and yellow dots dancing beneath the black.

He stayed that way for a bit, his mind blank and focused on the way his body rose and fell with each breath. He stood up after a while, not feeling any better than before, and dusted himself off. He drove with the windows rolled down and the radio blasting for rest of the ride back, gripping the wheel tightly around his hands.

At least driving was something he could control.


	5. Chapter 5

It was like watching a movie or from another person's point of view.

He didn't recognize where they were. The background was blurry and out of focus, but he could tell they were standing beside a curtained window, the fabric orange against the light beaming from outside. The curtains weren't completely closed off, blinding white light shining through the little slit between the two sheets. The light disappeared as the two naked bodies pressed closely together, blocking out the light.

His view of these people was restricted after the belly buttons, but he knew who they were without seeing the faces. One figure hovered over the other as he brushed his hand against his left arm.

His view changed to a first-person point of view then, yanked into his own body and his sense of touch returned. Cas continued to run his hand up and down Dean's arm as he slowly leaned in for a soft kiss.

The kiss didn't last long, and Dean was back to watching rather than participating. He could somehow still feel everything his body was feeling, which was weird, but it seemed to make sense somehow. He watched from behind his own back just as Cas pulled away from the kiss.

Cas gripped Deans left shoulder, and slowly mouthed the spot between Dean's collarbone and his right shoulder. Dean felt every lick and flicker of the tongue, the force of the sucking possessive and hungry as if he wanted to devour Dean on the spot—

Dean woke up with his heart drumming in his ears. He didn't open his eyes to keep the images trapped between his eyelids, even if just for a little longer.

He felt the erection he was sporting between his legs, and heard John's snoring from his parents' room down the hallway of his childhood house. Jesus, 'erection' and 'parent' should never be used in the same sentence, no matter the context.

The mid-November chill in the air hit him as he got out of bed. It was painfully hard to shuffle out of his bed without further arousing himself from the subtle touches here and there, but he managed somehow. He checked his phone, and cursed at how early it was before he tiptoed his way towards the shower. The bathroom door creaked, to which Dean cringed and paused to listen. After making sure he hadn't woken anybody up, he gently shut the door behind him and stripped quickly, hoping to take care of _this_ soon.

The ice cold water caused a shudder and goosebumps all over his skin. After a good minute, Dean turned the hot water on, letting the warmth soak through his whole body. Surprisingly, the tingling on his lips from dream Cas's kiss was still somehow there. He hadn't had such a vivid dream that affected his physical senses in a while. His thoughts sleepily drifted back to the way Cas tenderly sucked on his skin in the dream. The warm water rained against his skin in a steady beat.

He gingerly grabbed his cock and closed his eyes, slowly pumping his hand up and down the shaft as he replayed the scene in his mind without holding much control over his thoughts. It didn't take too long before he felt how close he was as he remembered the way Cas's lips brushed and pressed against his sensitive skin. Dean ground his head against the bathroom wall, biting his lips as he pumped with shorter, faster strokes. He rubbed the slit of the head with his thumb, his stomach clenching with the motion. He was so damn  _close_.

Within minutes, his fast rhythm broke into a stutter in his fist as he came. He steadied himself against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, and rode it out for as long as it allowed him.

That wasn't so bad. Fuck, that was  _amazing._ Why he refrained himself from that for all these years, he didn't _—_

 _Shit_.

The nice buzz was instantly wiped away, and the feeling of being dirty and perverted and _wrong_ came crashing.

Cas was _supposed_ to his friend, and Dean had just crossed that line without a second thought. He held himself off for the past _fifteen_ fucking years _,_ and he let himself break after a week spent with Cas and one dream about him.

His stomach turned as he scrubbed hard head to toe until his skin turned bright, angry red, trying to wipe this feeling of _wrong_ away. No, he had to calm down. He was _not_ going to freak out in the middle of his childhood home's shower.

It wasn't like he could go back in time and undo the doing, right? He just needed to brush off the guilt and move on with life. It wasn't as if anyone knew. It was only him.

 

* * *

 

It was fucking haunting him.

Everything seemed to remind him of what he came to refer as The Event. As soon as he had the moment of peace where he'd actually forgotten about Cas or The Event, his brain helpfully supplied links in his thoughts that led back to his wrongdoing.

_T shirts yes people wear shirts, people including Cas I jerked off to Cas I can't believe it I'm the worst best friend ever._

_It's 2:30 man I'm tired wonder if Sam is sleeping who lives in California where Cas also lives jesus christ oh god nonono I remembered it again._

_Huh that guy has nice hands Cas has nice hands_ _god_ damn it!

Dean had held out for the past fifteen fucking years, but no, his stupid self-restraint broke after a week spent in Cas's presence and one somewhat erotic dream (it was PG-13, for god's sake). He went through his fucking teenage years without being overturned by his stupid hormones, but apparently years of Cas's absence, and his surprise visit was all it took to break it all down.

He absolutely refused to deal with this right now. _Now_ being at dinner with his parents at his parents' house for Thanksgiving. Dean stabbed the piece of turkey innocently sitting on his plate, taking his frustration out on the piece of meat. _Pieceofmeat—_

 _Holy_  shit,  _stop_.

"So, Dean," John's voice snapped Dean back to the present. "How's working at the garage?"

Dean shrugged. "The same. You know."

John chuckled. "It's hard work, right?"

Dean shrugged. Mary smiled at him from across the table. "Of course it's hard work, John. I'm worried about you," she added towards Dean. "You've always been such a hard worker. You should get more rest. It's only part-time after all."

"Let the boy do what he wants, Mary," John said pointedly. "He's a grown man now. If he thinks he can handle it, he can handle it. Right, Dean?"

Dean shrugged again with a smile, making sure it reached all the way to the side of his eyes to make it seem genuine.

"But your mother is also right," John continued. "Don't strain yourself too much, you hear? You need to take care of your health or you won't be able to do jack squat."

Dean swallowed the bite of food he took. "Yeah, I know."

Satisfied with the answer, John gave him a light pat on the back before he turned to Mary. They started another conversation while Dean poked his food, doomed with the mix of bitterness, spite, affection and some other feelings he couldn't identify.

Sam had put it into words before, back when they were still considered young. It was late at night and they were in Dean's room, Sam rolling around on his bed and Dean by his desk as he worked on homework.

"It would be so much easier if we didn't know he loves us as much as he does," Sam had said.

"What do you mean?" Dean had asked with a frown.

"Well, you know," Sam shrugged. "He's a control freak, but he does it out of love. He honestly thinks his ways are what's best for us, and I think that's what makes it worse. He actually doesn't understand how it affects us."

Dean stayed silent, knowing there was more to this.

Sam picked at his fingernails. "Sometimes I wish I could genuinely hate him and completely cut off any ties with him. Or not care about him at all. It would make our lives so much easier."

Dean twirled the pencil in his hand. "Yeah, but I'd still be stuck with you," he said with a grin.

The crease between Sam's eyebrows eased and Sam threw a pillow at Dean. "I'm trying to be serious here, you jerk!"

Dean laughed and blocked the pillow from hitting him on the face. "Get off my bed, bitch."

Sam never found out that Dean had agreed.

 

* * *

 

The rest of Thanksgiving week went smoothly. More smoothly than Dean had hoped, anyway. It wasn't like he had much expectations, and John still talked about Sam in the end. He didn't bother hiding how angry he was at him, and it wasn't that Dean didn't have to sit through dinners and eat quietly while listening to John's exact opinions on Sam. The bursts of angry rants were a lot less frequent than he expected though, and he gladly took that over hearing nonestop about how much Sam supposedly disrespected the family. Dean was just thankful for Mary's presence at the dinner tables. It was always better to have an ally to go through it with than none.

The holiday itself was pretty uneventful, like every other Thanksgiving was in the Winchester household. He was glad to be back in his own little corner of the world in Sioux Falls, but that also meant he had no more excuses to not speak to Cas after The Event.

He stared at the ceiling, unenthusiastically thinking about how he shouldn't be staring into the lights because it'll probably damage his eyes in some ways. He was currently out of ideas on what the next development should be in his novel. He already had the ending roughly written out, but he still needed the steps to get to that ending, and he definitely needed more build-up between them. He wished his novel was a movie instead, and have little montages of them doing things together. It would save him the trouble.

Who was he kidding. This was a romantic comedy for god's sake. The moments of characters interacting together and gushing out _feelings_ to each other were what made romantic comedies.

He still wondered daily how he became a published romcom author, let alone a writer.

Dean stared blankly at the wall in front of him. Ah, what the fuck ever. He may as well just get this over with.

He braced himself, and clicked on the little blue icon with a white S in the middle. His heart pummeled in his chest as he logged onto Skype, and he went through the scripted conversations in his head again.

His stomach flipped at the sight of the green icon beside Cas's name. He sat there, staring at the screen in a bit of a daze. He dragged the cursor over to their conversation window and typed.

` Dean: hey [8:09PM]`

Almost immediately, the computer beeped to indicate an incoming video call. Dean physically recoiled away from his laptop in surprise, and patted his hair down before accepting it. The webcam loaded, and they were connected.

"Ugh," Dean let out.

"Pleased to see your face too," Balthazar replied with a snarky smile. "Cas is a little busy right now, so I thought I'd entertain you while he's gone."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Get off his computer. Where is he anyway?"

"Nature calls. I know you think the sun shines out of his ass but—"

"Yeah, thanks man. TMI." Dean huffed. "Tell Cas I'll talk to him later, then—"

"So I heard some interesting things, Dean."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"I heard," Balthazar drawled, "that you heartlessly rejected dear old Cassie at the airport."

Dean ignored the sting of the blow, and propped his chin on his palm. "Have people ever told you to mind your own god damn business, Balthazar?"

"Far too many times." Balthazar waved him aside. "Look, I honestly don't care about you, but as Cassie's friend—"

"Balthazar?" Cas's voice echoed from off-camera. "Who are you talking to?"

Balthazar winced, and turned around with a smile. "Cas! Nobody special, darling—"

"Hey, Cas."

"Dean?" Cas moved into the webcam's view with a wet towel slung over his neck, trying to shove Balthazar away.

"Hey," Dean smiled widely, the buzzing in his stomach back again. He really wasn't staring at the way Cas's dark wet locks stuck against his forehead, carelessly tossed and mussed up. "How've you been?"

Cas shrugged. "The same."

Dean cleared his throat. "Cool. How was Thanksgiving?"

"He spent it with me," Balthazar smushed his face against Cas's, shoving his way in front of the camera with a grin. Cas playfully shoved his face away, doing his best to remain stoic.

Jealousy pricked at Dean, and he shooed it aside before it consumed him. Balthazar had been a close friend to Cas ever since they met in their first undergraduate year at Stanford, and they were now colleagues in the history department. Cas had never told him and Dean had never asked, but Dean suspected that they have had at least _some_ type of fling together at one point, and that really shouldn't bother Dean since it was none of his business who Cas dated.

Jealousy was an ugly emotion and Dean wasn't proud of it, to say the least.

"How was yours, Dean?" Cas asked, worry etched over his face. "Did it go... well?"

Dean shrugged. "No more worse than any other year."

"Right," Cas nodded hesitantly. "Dean—"

The sound of a phone ring came from the background. Cas sighed. "Excuse me," he said, and left. Balthazar watched him walk away and turned to the camera.

"Honestly, you had to mention Thanksgiving, didn't you?" Balthazar hissed. "You know how he is with holidays."

Dean rubbed his temple. "Yeah, I know—"

"So why on _earth_ did you reject him for the Christmas visiting?" Balthazar accused, and for the first time in the conversation, Dean detected actual worry. "You know how miserable he's going to be all by himself."

Dean frowned. "Aren't you going to spend it with him?"

"Funnily enough, I'm my own person too," Balthazar smiled thinly. "And as much as I love Cas, I can't provide the same comfort you do."

Dean rolled his eyes.

Balthazar tutted. "You're a terrible boyfriend, you know that?"

Dean flushed. "I'm not—"

"Will you two ever get along?" Cas's voice asked as it came closer. "What are you two arguing about now?"

Dean swallowed down the rest of his sentence, and rubbed his neck to get rid of the flush creeping up. He rubbed his eyebrows and pointedly looked at anywhere but the screen. "Nothing, nothing important."

He heard Balthazar's loud snort carried through the laptop speaker, but he didn't expand on the subject either. They talked for a few more minutes before Cas admitted he and Balthazar should really go back to working. They bid each other good night, and ended the call.

Dean absently spun on his chair, his body slung over it as he stared at the ceiling. He suddenly recalled back to The Event, and he winced at the mortification it brought him again. He was just thankful he didn't accidentally remind himself of it during his conversation with Cas.

He stretched, feeling every single muscle straining itself. He stared blankly at the document file as he spun and tapped his square eraser on the table in one hand. He scratched his head with a sigh and shut down his laptop. It wasn't like this writer's block was going to go away by staring at the screen. He might as well get some decent sleep for tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

"Oh my god," Dean exclaimed. "Today is the slowest day ever."

"You whining about it?" Bobby walked out of his office and tossed him a cold beer, setting Dean fumbling for it. The can opened with a nice crack, the sound echoing off the walls of the empty garage.

"I think it's about time you retire, Bobby. I mean, look at all this business you're getting."

"I retire, and where would you idjit be?"

Dean shrugged. "I'd manage somehow."

"Oh yeah?"

"I've got my ways," he winked and took a sip, looking out at the empty field in front of the garage. He almost choked on the sip when a bright pink Beetle pulled up into the garage, complete with white zebra stripe leather seats.

"Fucking christ," he muttered as a tiny man with an all-too familiar mischievous twinkle in his eyes jumped out of the car.

"Dean-o! Long time no talk, buddy," Gabriel grinned with ease, his thin brown hair flapping in the wind.

"Not your buddy," Dean mumbled, and gulped down the rest of his beer. He needed it. "What the hell happened to your other car?"

"Oh, that one? It got too boring. I thought I'd go for a little... kick."

"You're committing a terrible blasphemy to this poor, useless thing." Dean eyed the Beetle warily. The zebra stripes stared back at him intimidatingly. "Shame on your car and shame on your dignity."

"And still got more dignity than you'll ever muster up!" Gabriel replied with mirth.

Dean sighed, and crushed the beer can in his hand. "Is there an actual purpose to this visit, or what?"

"What, you think I came here to see your pretty face? Please." Gabriel pointed at the hood of his car. "There's been rattling noises coming out of the engine."

"Can't you afford some personal mechanic to come to your house or something?"

"You turning down customers?" Gabriel asked with a quirk of his eyebrows.

Dean felt a headache creeping his way. "I'll let Bobby know."

"Actually, I'd like you to take a look."

Dean spun on his heels and faced him grimly, eyeing him dubiously. Gabriel stared back as innocently as he could, which wasn't saying much considering it was Gabriel.

Half an hour later, Dean found himself elbow deep in Gabriel's poor excuse for a car. "This is the worst piece of junk I've ever laid my hands on, and that's saying a lot, considering I've seen a lot of junk in my life."

"Mm, I don't know. Can't really see you with that much game," Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows, and Dean retorted with an eyeroll. "And it was cheap. Buuuuut that's beside the point!" Gabriel clapped his hands with his too-happy voice, his legs dangling from the counter. "So."

"So."

"How's my baby brother doing?"

Dean stiffened, not by surprise but because he hated this part. Gabriel had good intentions, but it was still talking about Cas when he wasn't here. "Why don't you ask the poor bastard yourself instead of coming from wherever the hell you were all the way to Sioux Falls to ask me?" he replied.

"Please. Baby bro won't tell me how he's _really_ doing if it was the end of the world."

"Don't I know it," he muttered to the engine.

"I heard he came up here for a visit."

"It wasn't a personal visit. He only came up for business and happened to be in the area." Dean straightened his back and turned to face Gabriel. His face matched the tone of his voice, the fake smile plastered on his face with the undertone of dejection. "He didn't tell you that?"

Gabriel shrugged, barely pouting but still enough to be noticeable. Dean scowled, and turned his back on him again. He didn't exactly come from the most healthy family in America, but sometimes he felt like Cas's family was on a whole other level. 

"So... how is he, really?"

Dean shrugged. "He's fine. What else do you want me to tell you?"

"Did he spend his Thanksgiving okay?" Gabriel probed. "Did he finally get himself a mate? C'mon, Dean, updates, updates!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I hear he spent it with Balthazar. Speaking of which," Dean straightened his back and stretched again, "why don't you ever do this with Balthazar? Why always me?"

Gabriel hummed. "He's not the one Cas is married to."

Dean sighed exasperatedly. "I'm _not_ married to him."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Riiiight. Dean, it's been over ten _years_. I'm yet again surprised by my brother's patience to wait for you to catch up with that thick brain of yours."

Dean scowled. "We're not like that."

Gabriel snorted. "Really? Because last time I checked, Cas thinks the sun shines out of your ass and you're still in denial about liking men in general."

Dean groaned in frustration, thinking back to Lisa's accusations back in high school. "Why does _everybody_ assume that? It wouldn't make a difference if he was a girl."

Gabriel seemed taken back at the words, and asked, "Then why not?"

"Because it's Cas, okay?" he hissed, the words punched out of him. "Sorry, but I'm not so eager to ruin one of the few good relationships I have in my life."

For once in Dean's whole life he'd known Gabriel, he was stunned into silence as he stared at Dean with wide eyes. This shocked Dean enough to understand the weight of what his god damned big fat mouth just blurted out.

"I didn't mean—We're _friends._ " Dean emphasized, stressing every word. "It's _never_ going to happen."

Gabriel just stared, his eyebrows raised. Dean stared back unimpressively. They stayed that way for a while, not saying anything to each other.

Dean broke first. "What?" he snapped.

Gabriel whistled. "Geez. That's some unhealthy repressing you're doing even for you, Winchester."

Dean glared. "Fuck off, Gabriel. You—"

Gabriel held his hands up. "Don't get your panties in a twist, man. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"There's nothing to _tell_."

Gabriel picked at his ear. "Yeah, okay. Whatever you say, Dean-o."

Dean scoffed. "Can't you go be a dick somewhere else?"

Gabriel grinned mockingly. "If you fix my car faster, then yeah, I can."

Dean clenched his jaw shut and went back to working on the car. He wondered if he could get away with cutting the brake lines as he listened to the knowing, teasing humming noises Gabriel was making for the rest of the afternoon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning:** explicit scenes and mentions of physical, verbal and emotional abuse towards one or more major characters are included in this chapter. [Hover for spoilers/details.]()

The first time it had happened, it turned out it hadn't been the first time at all.

It was near the end of their sophomore year, and Dean was in the bathroom with Cas, dabbing the apple sauce off his shoulder and the neck of Cas's shirt with a paper towel.

"How long has this been going on?" Dean had demanded to know. His knuckles were still sore from punching the douchebag out, but he ignored the dull throbbing pain.

Cas had shrugged nonchalantly as he swatted Dean's hand away. He took the paper towel from Dean's hand and wiped the rest of the sauce away himself. "It's only apple sauce, Dean. Don't worry about it."

Dean believed him, being the stupid idiot that he was.

Cas had stayed tight-lipped about the whole thing, but Dean had his own moles around the school. He soon found out about the cruel writings on Cas's locker, getting his backpack taken away and getting things thrown at him, and Dean constantly worried about any other incidents that he wasn't aware of. The fucking cowards also always picked on Cas whenever Dean wasn't around (albeit that one time with the apple sauce), and every time Dean was about to go after the dicks, Cas stopped him.

"We're going to get you a new bag, then I'm going to _kill_ whoever did this," Dean growled out, pacing to and fro. Lisa shuffled uncomfortably by the side as she watched the exchange.

"Dean," Cas ground out as he sorted out the content of his waterlogged backpack, categorizing them between 'still usable' and 'gone to waste'.

"I'm not standing by and watching you be treated this way, Cas," Dean spat out angrily.

Cas only rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Spare your energy elsewhere. Didn't you two have a date to go to?" he finished, eyeing Lisa.

"It's okay, Cas," Lisa said gently.

Dean gave a sharp nod in agreement. "Don't worry about our date and worry about yourself. This is more important, anyway."

Lisa winced. Belatedly Dean realized how it must've sounded, but it was too late to unsay the words.

Cas sighed, not aware of the sudden discomfort between Dean and Lisa. "Nonetheless, it isn't something you should worry about. This is no big deal."

"No big deal?" Dean echoed, disbelief oozing out. "They fucking _flushed_ your bag down the _toilet_."

"Go on your date. I'm fine."

"Cas—"

"It's fine," Cas insisted to the end, pushing Dean and Lisa away. Reluctantly—and with a  _lot_ of protest from Dean—they left, with Dean grumbling and complaining.

"Fine, my ass," Dean snarled. "I swear, if something like this happens again—"

"Castiel is such a sweet guy. Why do they keep bothering him like that?" Lisa said with pity as they walked hand in hand.

"It's because they're narrow-minded douchebags with too much time on their hands."

Lisa sighed with a shake of her head. Neither of them mentioned what was probably on both of their minds, though they were aware of one of the bigger reasons for the bullying. Dean was glad Lisa didn't bring it up, because it wasn't like it was Cas's fault for being born into a dysfunctional family.

The Shurleys were pretty normal from an outsider's perspective. A little more devoted to the Church and its causes, but otherwise, they were a normal family consisting of a single dad with his four boys.

Like all families, they had bigger problems than they seemed to.

Dean wasn't sure on the details, and he tried not to listen to the rumours that floated around; if it wasn't from Cas's own mouth, Dean decided to dismiss them as what they were—rumours. Dean knew Cas's dad was deceased but again, he wasn't sure of the details (he heard it from Anna and it was the one constant part of the rumours, so he figured the dead dad bit was most likely to be true). They hadn't been friends for a long time, and he doubted it was a subject one just... _asked_ to confirm.

He just knew that Cas's house had burned down to the ground along with his dad; sometime between the beginning of Dean's quips with him, and the due date of their biology project.

Dean wished he had paid more attention to what was happening with Cas. Otherwise, he might've been able to watch out for him, and back him up on the day Cas almost got expelled from school.

It started with someone tooting to their backs. "Devil worshipper!"

"Keep walking." Cas grasped Dean's shoulder and Dean unclenched his fist. 

"Right." Dean gritted.

"Hey, Shurley!" The same mocking voice called out. "Heard you killed your dad and you pinned it on your brother so now he's in jail!" they mocked, the sound cruel to Dean's ears. "Man, Winchester, you must be a psycho yourself for hanging out with a freak like that."

Cas stopped dead in his tracks. Dean stuttered in his steps at the sudden halt and glanced at Cas.

All the fury and wrath of Hell broke within the few seconds.

Dean had never seen Cas that way before, and he really wished he never did again. Not that he'd tried to hold him back or anything, but he somewhat regretted not dragging him off into a more private area for the fight. 'Fight' being a more generous word for what was really a one-sided beating from Cas, which didn't even last for that long because the lunch monitor was right _there,_  and it was only a matter of time before Cas was ripped off from the body underneath him.

Dean waited outside of the principal's office, picking at his fingernails. Lisa and Ash kept him company for a bit, but they were whisked away by their group of friends as Dean insisted it was fine if he was left alone. He wasn't the one that beat the shit out of some kid and being ripped for it by the principle, who was going nuts by the way, shrieking at Cas at the top of his lungs, loud enough for Dean to overhear the entire thing outside of his office.

"...broke his arm, Castiel! What were you _thinking_?..."

"...provoked? Be glad I'm not _expelling_ you! You're obviously still angry with grief after your loss and your violent tendencies are a _problem_..."

"...The next time it happens, I want you to tell someone about it, all right, Castiel? No more violence..."

When Cas slammed the office door shut and stomped out, Dean stood up and accompanied him by his side.

"Cas—"

"Don't," Cas bit out and Den clamped his mouth shut. The sight must've stirred something in Cas, as he spun on his heels and ruffled his hair in distress. "Don't tell me I didn't follow my own advice and don't tell me what I did was wrong, because I know all of it already."

"I wasn't going to," Dean snapped back defensively. He licked his lips and sighed at the sight of Cas, the area just above his right cheekbone becoming slowly darker as the bruise settled in. "Just, are you okay?"

Cas let out a hollow laugh. "I've been suspended for a week, Dean. Michael is going to kill me."

"Okay, that... sucks, but that's not what I'm asking here, man," said Dean, putting his hand on Cas's shoulder. "I mean, are _you_ okay?"

Cas's expression softened. He seemed to consider the answer before he admitted, "I don't know."

"Right. Well, it's nice out today and we've still got 15 minutes left. Wanna go outside and sit by the bleachers?"

Cas's posture slumped, all the fight leaving him. "Yes. Let's do that."

They sat on the bleachers outside, basking under the May sun with no exchanged words for the rest of the lunch break. When the warning bell rang, Cas dusted off his pants and watched Dean in that intensely focused way of his while Dean stood up.

"What?" Dean raised his eyebrows.

Cas shook his head slightly and smiled faintly, just enough for Dean to see. "Nothing."

The day that followed was pretty uneventful, especially without Cas around. At the end of the day, he was greeted by Lisa at his locker.

"How's he doing?" she asked worriedly, and Dean smiled at her empathy. She was too good for him, really.

"Don't know. Haven't talked to him all day. Nobody answered the phone when I called," Dean said as he shoved his stuff into his locker and took his backpack out. "I'm gonna go see him. Wanna come?"

Lisa chuckled. "Thanks, Dean, but I don't think I should."

"Uh, why not?"

"Because," she shrugged, side-eyeing people passing by. She hummed, uncertainty flashing across her face. "I just... I don't know him as well as you do."

"Uh." Dean raised his eyebrows. "I guess so."

Lisa rolled her eyes with a smile. "It's fine. Just, go. I'll talk to you later. Let me know how he's doing, okay?"

Dean shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "See you later," he said with a peck on her lips.

It was a nice May afternoon with the warm sunlight in the air and a gentle breeze passing through. By the time Dean was in front of the Shurleys', his back was damp with sweat from his backpack. He waited patiently after ringing the doorbell, resisting the urge to fidget.

A click sounded and the door creaked open, revealing Michael. He raised one of his eyebrows. "Dean."

"Hi." Dean punched out, holding his ground. Michael always gave him the hibby-jibbies given how much he looked like a younger version of John except for his cold blue eyes, but he wasn't going to let himself run away. "Is Cas home?"

"Where else would he be?" Michael inquired, hovering over Dean.

"Can I see him?"

Michael hummed.

Dean gritted his teeth at the condescending tone, and put on a smile for the display. "Please?"

Michael sweetly smiled back, not quite reaching his eyes. "All you had to do was ask, Dean," he said, opening the door wider. Dean took the invitation and stepped inside. "He's in his room."

"Thanks." Dean tried not to run up the stairs under Michael's unnerving gaze pricking the back of his neck. He was just relieved he didn't have to deal with Gabriel as he quickly passed by his room, the door firmly shut.

Dean barely knocked on Cas's door once before it swung open. "Whoa—"

"Dean." Cas pursed his lips. "Come in."

"Jeez, how'd you know I'd be here?" Dean asked, slinging his bag off onto the floor.

"I heard you and Michael talking."

"Right," Dean nodded as he rummaged his bag. "Got you today's history hand-outs," he said, handing the papers to Cas.

Cas grabbed the papers and studied it briefly, eyes flickering up and down the page. "What did I miss today?"

Dean shrugged. "She went on another tangent about her kid not even halfway through class, then told us to complete the sheets by ourselves for next week."

Cas scoffed, and threw the papers onto his desk. "She's a terrible teacher."

Dean laughed and settled himself onto the edge of Cas's bed. "Say that one more time and I think you'll create a new mantra."

"I'm not sure if that's how mantras work."

"Well, whatever. You know what I mean," Dean replied cheerfully. He looked around the bare room, not one single poster or a picture frame in sight. Dean had always thought the room looked more like a prison than a home, and the thought of Cas not comfortable in his own house always had Dean wishing he could whisk him to a place far away, a place just for them.

"You gonna put any posters up anytime soon, Cas?" he asked. He glanced at Cas to find him standing in the middle of the room, his eyes fixed on Dean.

Cas smiled softly as their eyes met, sending a flutter in Dean's chest. He soon joined Dean on the side of the bed, sending ripples through the mattress with a slump. "Not here, no."

Dean frowned. "Where, then?"

"I don't know," Cas replied, their hands almost touching but kept at a safe distance. "When I have my own place someday maybe, but not here."

Maybe it was the hint of yearning in Cas's voice, or the way his eyelashes fluttered at the drop of his gaze. The thought of Cas suddenly sprouting a pair of wings to fly away, away from this town and away from Dean crossed his mind, and something twisted in his stomach. He wanted to ground him back to Earth—just until Dean was capable of keeping up right beside Cas—and the next he knew he was palming Cas's face with his right hand, reaching across his body and his eyes directed at the black and blue bruise.

"It bruised pretty badly, huh," Dean murmured, brushing his thumb over the bruise lightly, Cas's cheekbone mapped out underneath his hand.

Cas stared at Dean, wide-eyed. "Dean?"

With Cas's warmth underneath his palm, Dean wondered what it'd be like to kiss him.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he intruded himself with another thought. He chuckled, and lightly tapped Cas's cheek. "I saw them with their arms in a sling today, though. I've never seen someone be attacked so ferociously my whole life."

The moment fleeted away just as quickly as it had come. If Cas noticed, he didn't acknowledge it. He scoffed instead at Dean's statement. "They ran their mouths. They should've known better."

Dean shrugged. "I'm not saying what they did is right. I just didn't expect you to get into a fight."

Cas snorted. "You know better now."

"I know better now," Dean replied with a nod.

Dean was unable to leave, but hesitant to stay. He had no more excuses to stay but he didn't want to leave Cas by himself, and he wondered if it was his place to make that decision. He fidgeted uncomfortably on the bed in the silence that followed their conversation.

Cas blinked away from Dean then, and geared his body towards Dean with his head bowed. Dean straightened at the sight, noticing the sign of someone wanting to talk and inviting him to. "I have another brother, you know," Cas blurted out. "Besides Michael and Gabriel."

Dean raised his eyebrows at this sudden confession, surprised that Cas was suddenly willing to volunteer information. He supposed it was best if he let him talk. "Huh."

"You've heard the rumours, haven't you?" Cas asked quietly, his shoulders tense.

Dean shrugged. "Here and there, but nothing solid. I mean, they're rumours."

Cas huffed. "How much have you heard?"

"Uh." Dean had to tread carefully. He wasn't sure if he was being accused of something or what, but Cas was knowingly pushing him to overstep a certain boundary one never crossed without permission, and Dean wondered if this was Cas's way of giving it. "That your brother's... in prison?"

Cas stared at his hands gripped tight in front of him, and Dean held his breath, hoping he didn't misinterpret the situation at hand. He almost sighed in relief when Cas began.

"My father was devoted to the church and raised us to be the same way. Michael and Luke accepted father's ways and devoted themselves as well. Starting few years ago, Luke started having doubts. He often argued with Michael and father about their ways. One night, it got... bad. Worse than usual."

Cas paused and licked his lips. He inhaled a shaky breath and managed a glance at Dean. He tapped his finger idly with a sigh. "One thing led to another, and they kicked him out."

Cas closed his eyes shut and silence followed. Dean already knew what happened after that night, and he didn't want Cas to relive it all over again because of him.

"Cas, it's fine." Dean gripped his own knees in fear of reaching out. "You don't have to tell me."

Cas shook his head slightly. "I didn't just lose my father that night, Dean," he spoke, barely audible. "Luke was diligent. Smart, and cunning, but always true to his words. I looked up to him, once. Gabriel did too, though he would never admit it."

Cas's voice shook, but he cleared his throat and kept on. "He was father's favourite. Always has been, and we all knew it, and I think father knew that we knew though nobody ever explicitly mentioned it, and I think that's what drove him to the edge. More than anything Luke wanted to be acknowledged by him and Luke always had his ways of getting exactly what he wanted, and that's why I think he set the fire that night, because by his definition, if he couldn't have father's love then nobody could and—"

Dean froze at the unexpected sight of Cas's tears, his mind completely whited out with nothing but something along the lines of  _crying he is crying those are tears what do I do Cas is crying_. He scooted closer to Cas and rubbed his back in circles for comfort.

Cas cried silently, his whole body shaking at each heave as tears streamed down his cheeks from his squeezed eyes. It didn't last long, to Dean's surprise. Cas was soon wiping the tears off his face as his usual stoic self with his shirt. If Dean hadn't been here to witness the act and the little red tint around Cas's eyes, he wouldn't have believed Cas had been crying just few minutes ago.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that," Cas said, still a little flush. He sheepishly sniffled with a swipe at his nose, and Dean smiled weakly. "I never told anyone before."

"I won't tell."

"I wouldn't have told you if I thought you would." Cas rubbed his eyes with a sigh. "I'm sorry."

Dean shrugged. "Nah, man. It's cool."

"In that case," Cas said, his voice soft and hushed, "thank you for letting me talk."

Maybe for the first time since Dean had known Cas, the proud obnoxious but blunt and honest Cas that he knew and cared for, he saw Cas for who he really was: a 16 year old boy who had lost his father along with his brother only few months ago.

"Anytime, Cas," he mumbled. He meant it.

 

* * *

 

It was the last day of their sophomore year. It should've been a happy, carefree day for everyone.

The local news had reported the night before with details on how Luke threw a fit at the court after he was sentenced for life. The footage of his violent lashing out along with Michael stepping out of the audience to help seize control of him was released. Needless to say, Cas was on edge, and it showed. Dean and his group of friends were highly strung with tension, treading around Cas carefully. The whole story was spread throughout the school by lunch break, and some had walked away whispering whenever Cas was sighted.

Dean fought the urge to grab Cas and haul him out of the school ground, only for Cas's sake. When he had suggested it, Cas shook his head and replied, "I'm not going to run away from cowards who talk behind my back."

 _This isn't about running away_ , Dean wanted to shout at the top of his lungs, _this is about protecting you from them doing more harm because I can't handle seeing you like this_. He held his tongue, and instead resorted to glaring at anyone who so much as dared to glance at Cas the wrong way.

The rest of the day went smoother than Dean hoped, and knowing Dean's luck he should've known better than to hope for the best.

Dean and Cas headed towards Cas's locker after stopping at Dean's first. As they came closer to Cas's locker, it was obvious there was something written across it, but the words was still illegible from where they were. From Cas's stony expression, he was expecting the worst and Dean readied himself to get angry as well.

Until Dean was close enough to read it.

_Freak. Psycho. Go join your daddy._

_Murderer._

Dean dropped his stuff onto the floor, and slapped his right hand over Cas's eyes before he had the chance to decipher the ugly words.

"Dean, wha—" Cas attempted to pry Dean's hand off, but Dean firmly held his hand in place and led Cas forward with his other hand on his back. "Let me see it."

"No."

"Dean—"

"I said no," Dean said as he scowled at a group of boys eyeing them dubiously by their lockers. They shuffled on their feet and lowered their gazes. Dean slowly and carefully turned Cas around and pushed him against his own locker, his whole body blocking the words away. Dean put a firm hand against Cas's chest and removed his right hand from Cas's eyes, ignoring everyone else around them.

Cas blinked his eyes open, and tried to shuffle in a way so he could see the words hidden by his back. Dean jerked Cas's chin away from his shoulder, and towards Dean.

"Eyes on me, Cas," Dean said quietly.

Cas glared at Dean. "I'm not a baby, Dean."

"This isn't about you being a baby," Dean ground out, pushing Cas and gripping his chin harder as Cas struggled against him. They stared at each other, and Dean could feel Cas's heartbeat rise underneath his palm; he could see the raw fury slowly seeping out, and it terrified Dean in more than one reason that Cas looked at him the way he did now. Still, he'd rather lose him forever than let Cas see those words and be scarred forever.

"If you're not protecting me out of pity, then tell me what you're doing right now," Cas spoke, each and every one of his words soaked with rage.

Dean clenched his jaw and snarled, " _Damn it_ , Cas. There's a difference between standing up to people, and purposely hurting yourself like _you're_ the one that need to be punished. This," Dean eyed the locker behind Cas and returned his gaze to Cas, "this is me keeping you from doing what you've been doing all fucking day."

Cas's eyes widened at the words with a sharp inhale. Dean let Cas process his words, and snarled, "Can I help you?" at the onlookers, who shuffled away with their eyes cast down. Cas relaxed against Dean's hold, which brought his attention back to Cas.

"Fine," Cas said neutrally, "I won't look."

Dean snorted. "Really? You're seriously the worst liar, man."

Cas looked appalled at the accusation, and Dean let out another snort. "C'mon, dude. I trust you with my life, but I don't believe you on this for a second." He put his whole weight on Cas so his hands could proceed to unlock Cas's locker with ease.

"We're going to miss the bus," Cas pointed out with a grunt after another struggle against Dean.

"Then go. I'll drop by with your stuff later," replied Dean, grinding his shoulder against Cas's chest and making sure to pin him in place.

"I _can't._ You have me pinned against my own god damn locker," Cas gritted through his teeth.

"Good point."

Cas let out a frustrated sigh and at last stopped struggling against Dean. Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Cas scoffed. "What? This is what you wanted."

"I'm just surprised you're giving it to me."

"I repeat from the first time we've talked," Cas responded. "You're infuriating."

"I'll take it as a compliment," Dean said with a thin smile. He slammed the locker door all the way open, and leaned against the door, making sure Cas wasn't able to get to the other side of it. Cas rolled his eyes at the sight and occupied himself with packing up. When Dean figured Cas finally gave up on the idea, he carefully rolled to the side and angled the locker door slightly so the writings were facing him. He held the locker door firmly in place in case of a surprise attack from Cas.

Despite knowing what to expect, Dean's blood still ran cold at the cruel, malicious words scrawled across the locker door in black and red. Thankfully they weren't written with permanent marker and they could definitely be wiped off. He reached for his water bottle from his bag and uncapped it with his teeth. He wet his hands and smeared the words into a scramble until it was nothing but a giant black blotch. Dean stepped back and studied his work.

Satisfied, Dean gave one sharp nod. "All right, Cas. You could probably catch the bus if you run."

Cas huffed and let his backpack drop onto the floor. "If you honestly think I'm going to let you clean my locker without me, you know nothing about me, Dean Winchester."

Dean smiled and shrugged in reply.

 

* * *

 

"Dean, am I right in hearing that you're friends with that Shurley boy?"

All the warning bells went off in Dean's head at John's sudden inquiry while he was alone in the kitchen after dinner, and his instincts told him to _lie, lie, lie_.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to lie about Cas.

"Yeah," Dean replied, unable to back off now that the words were out. "What about it?"

John grimaced. "Dean, I'm not saying you shouldn't make friends. I'm not."

John sighed, and the noise alone set Dean's heart to race faster. He was shaking a little already, understanding what was coming.

"I just don't want you to be... associated with them and their rumours." John hummed. Dean bit the insides of his cheeks. "Make normal friends, Dean. There are plenty out there, right?"

Dean suppressed the surging anger. "Dad, Cas is a good guy—"

"Dean. I'm telling you to not to, for your sake," John said firmly, his presence towering over Dean.

The lies came more easily that time around. "Yes, sir."

 

* * *

 

Dean and Cas were seniors on the night John found the photo.

"Dean, what the hell is this?" John demanded.

Dean was in the living room with Sam, working on homework together, and startled at the tone of John's voice. John had been in an otherwise neutral mood all night. "Huh? What is it?"

"You tell me," John replied, holding a photo still enough for Dean to realize what it was.

It was the photo Sam took of Dean and Cas at the homecoming game at the beginning of the year. Dean knew he looked stupid with his eyes in a half-blink thanks to the flash, along with the black and red and a giant grin painted on his face with a hotdog in hand, and his arm looped around Cas's shoulder; Cas looked completely caught by surprise with a serious case of red eye, but the pair of bunny ears behind Dean's head told a different story.

"Why were you in my room?" Dean asked, feeling rage and disbelief and panic all at once. He had the photo hidden underneath a pile of paper in his desk drawer.

"That's not important," John boomed. "What's important here is that you lied to me for years now, after I've told you to stay away from him. It was a simple instruction and you failed to keep your words. You know what that is, Dean?"

Sam fidgeted behind Dean, shrinking himself as small as possible. Dean stayed tight-lipped and lowered his gaze.

"It's called disrespect. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Dean mumbled.

"No, I don't think you do," John said. "Look at me in the _eye,_ and tell me you will never see this boy again."

"Why does it _matter_?"

John paused, taken back at Dean's sudden outburst. "Watch your tone with me, Dean," he snarled.

"Cas is my best friend, dad," Dean said, almost pleading at this point. "His family doesn't define him. He's a good guy and—"

"He's from an unstable household, and he's a bad influence on you. When you're seen with him, you give _all_ of us a bad name."

"No, dad! Why the hell does it _matter_ what people think? Cas is—"

" _Dean_!"

Both Dean and Sam flinched.

"Don't," John emphasized, ripping the photo in half, "see," _rip,_  "him," _rip,_  " _again,_ " _rip_.

The whole world seemed to slow down as John ripped the photo into shreds in front of Dean's eyes. Dean knew he was shaking, but he couldn't stop. Tears stung at his eyes, and Dean dared not blink at the thought of looking weak in front of this man. He would never forgive himself if he did.

"Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Dean rasped.

"I hope you're happy." John muttered, crumbling the ripped pieces of the photo up. "Go to your room. I don't even want to look at you right now."

Dean silently gathered his belongings off the coffee table, ignoring Sam's worried gaze, and calmly walked upstairs to his room. He gently closed his door with a click, and slowly slumped to the floor. He was still slightly trembling, and he pressed his palms onto his eyes, taking one shaky breath after another. He was unable to think.

He only knew he couldn't wait until he could afford his own cell phone.

 

* * *

 

Cas was Dean's best friend. After all they've been through, it was hard for Dean to not automatically think of Cas whenever the question "do you have a special someone in your life?" was asked.

He wasn't saying it was the same for Cas regarding Dean, but Dean also knew the only other person besides his immediate family members who knew about Cas's family and Luke was Balthazar, and Cas and Balthazar were pretty damn close. Bottom line, Dean and Cas were pretty god damn close.

Dean knew things would change one day when Cas had his own family, and Dean would be replaced eventually but denial was one of Dean's best friends and they were only thirty something years old anyway.

So when Dean talked to Cas over Skype after the Christmas break and remembered Gabriel's question on Cas's romantic life, he figured he'd mention it as a joke.

It was supposed to be a joke.

He wasn't supposed to get a flustered Cas in response on his laptop screen, rubbing his neck and looking away with a shy smile.

"Actually, yes," Cas's voice through his laptop speakers barely registered in Dean's brain. "I guess you could say she and I are dating."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ill_interrogate_the_cat_castiel, I really hope I made it in time for you to read this chapter before your family trip. Whether I did or not, I hope you have a lovely time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over Spanish dialogues for translation.
> 
> This chapter involves Cas being in a relationship with someone who's not Dean. For those who can't read any pairings that's not Dean/Castiel, [hover for spoilers.]()

`Among the competing hypotheses, the hypothesis with the fewest assumptions should be selected - _Occam's razor, William of Ockham_ (1287 - 1347)`

 

Dean grinned at the webcam, already feeling the strains of his face muscles.

" _What_? Who's the lucky girl? Do I know her?"

"No, I don't believe so," Cas smiled back. "Her name is Daphne."

"And how long—" Dean gestured into the air. "How long has this been going on for? Did you... You never talked about her before."

"Well, I've known Daphne for a while but this is pretty recent," Cas shrugged. "She's one of the professors in the history department and her office is few doors down from mine. The history department held a staff party which required a date, and Daphne and I were both free, so we figured we'd go as friends and I... actually had a lot of fun with her together."

What kind of stupid party required a date?

"Office romance, huh? Good for you, man. Is she hot?" Dean snickered.

Cas gave him The Look. " _Dean_."

Dean laughed. "I'm just asking."

"She's attractive, but that's not the only reason why we're dating."

"Yeah, I'm _sure_ she's got a nice personality, or whatever."

Cas rolled his eyes, but soon chuckled with a shake of his head.

Dean quirked his eyebrows. "What?"

"Just, _dating,_ " Cas played with his beer bottle. "I guess I'm a bit rusty. You don't happen to have any advice, do you?"

Dean shrugged with a swig of his own beer. "Google is your friend. Besides, I thought research was _your_ area."

Cas nodded in agreement. "Speaking of research, I can't seem to find anything on the author of those romantic comedy books you love."

Dean hummed, ignoring the way his heart dropped to his stomach at the sudden mention of himself. His alternative identity self. Whatever. "I heard he likes his privacy."

"Even then, the generally known facts like hometown, or his age, or anything at all about his personal life is not found anywhere." Cas narrowed his eyes. "Nobody's even seen his face. That's a bit odd, don't you think?" he asked pointedly.

Dean laughed. "Why are you trying to find out anyway?"

Cas shrugged. "I'm curious about him."

"Uh huh," Dean nodded absently with another sip of beer. "Well, I've got to do some stuff around the house, so I'll see you later, Cas."

"Oh," Cas let out in surprise at the sudden dismissal. Dean waited for him to say something on the subject, but he didn't. Dean gritted his teeth against the disappointment that followed. "Goodbye, Dean."

Dean smiled tightly in reply, and hung up. He drummed his fingers against the desk, the cool surface rhythmically tapped against his fingertips. He closed the laptop shut.

He remembered he had dishes to do, so he got up and headed to the kitchen. He scrubbed the dishes before he loaded the dishwasher. Did he have anything else to do? Laundry. He hadn't put in this week's load yet so he'll have to do that next.

By the time he came back upstairs from the apartment's laundry room, it was quarter after nine. Dean dialed the number he knew by muscle memory and lied on the couch with the phone to his ear. He stared at the living room ceiling that he'd studied a thousand times before.

Click. "Yeah?"

"Sam. Hey." He sunk deeper into the couch. "It's, uh, it's me."

"Yeah, I know it's you, Dean. Caller ID?" Sam sounded amused. He probably was. "What's up? You okay?"

Dean laughed. "Why wouldn't I be okay? What, do I only call you when I'm _not_ okay?"

"Generally, yeah."

"Don't be a dick," Dean replied. "How've you been?"

They talked for maybe half an hour before Sam asked again if he was really okay, to which he replied that he was fine ("if you ask me one more time again, I'm hanging up on you Sammy"). Honestly, couldn't he make a social call without constantly being asked about his emotional stability?

After finishing his call with Sam, Dean decided, hey, this was the perfect time to start cleaning his apartment. He hadn't vacuumed in a while, and yeah, maybe it was after ten at night, but if his neighbours wanted to complain, he wasn't going to be anywhere else. Besides, he liked his place clean, and right now, it was pretty messy after the results of being nowhere but home for the past two days to finish up his latest chapter.

He cleaned vigorously. He opened up the balcony door because of the dust and put on his coat since it was fucking freezing. He muttered profanities underneath his breath as he scrubbed the corners clean of dust, and vacuumed and aired out the whole place. He took the steaming dishes out of the dishwasher and took apart the oven, scrubbing every single inch of it clean. He impatiently waited for the elevator again because he forgot quarters for the dryer. He made a grocery list and jotted down plot points and ideas for his next chapter while he waited for his load of laundry to be done.

By the time he was back in his own apartment with warm pile of laundry, it was around two in the morning. It was a bit late (early?) for a shower, but he desperately wanted one, and because he was a fully grown adult who lived alone and was allowed to do anything he wanted in his own god damned house, he took a skin scalding hot shower.

He thought about going for a quickie, but thought against it after the series of sexual fantasies he guiltily used these days for his needs, with a certain someone's hands all over him and his lips against his own and his sly tongue teasing his nipples. 

He stepped out of the shower and patted himself dry. He slipped on one of his most comfortable t-shirt and headed for bed in his boxers. With his last brief thought on the faceless woman named Daphne and Cas walking away from Dean's view hand-in-hand alongside with Sam and Jess ( _no_ he was  _not_ thinking about this now, and he needed to go to bed), Dean went to bed. He dreamed about avenging the death of his parents who was killed by a mafia boss that turned out to be a blind turtle that lived in a sketchy stable. He didn't know either. He thought he might be going a little insane.

The next day, Dean drove over to the local grocery store with his crumbled-up grocery list, still a bit groggy from not getting a well-rested sleep (mafia turtles will do that). He dodged the occasional moms and dads with their kids and the elderly, mindlessly crossing off the items on his list as he picked them up.

He was by the dairy section when the full force of the situation finally hit him.

Like a switch had gone off, Dean's throat suddenly became uncomfortably dry and his stomach twisted. He squeezed his eyes shut, the back of his neck muscles jumping in distress.

Cas had a partner.

Not an insignificant one-night stand that was purely physical, but someone he actually _liked_. Someone he was _dating_.

 _Fuck_.

There he was, standing in front of the dairy section with a carton of milk in hand, people passing by him without so much a glance while one of his worst fears were becoming true.

 _Were_ true.

Dean threw the carton into his trolley and hurried to the check out, practically running through the aisle.

He needed a drink.

 

* * *

 

"Benny," Dean slurred dumbly, his chin propped up with his hand. His head was drumming but wow, he really couldn't give two fucks about that. "Have I ever told you how huggable you look?"

Benny kept on wiping the glass in his hand with a snort. "You haven't."

"Welllllllll. You are. I bet you are. I mean, I've never hugged you before but you're like a giant teddy bear, man. I bet you're huggable," Dean drawled.

"Alright," Benny said, taking the drink away from Dean's hand for some reason.

"I'm not done with that."

"I think you've had enough for tonight, Rapunzel," Benny replied gently. "I'm gonna call you a cab, alright? Can you tell me your address?"

"Course I can. But I'm not gonna tell _you_. You can't kick me out too." He burrowed his face into his arms. "Everyone keeps throwing me away. You can't do that to me either." He was pretty sure Benny didn't want to hear any of his whiny bitching, but he was also drunk and really didn't care what he was saying at the moment, so he just kept on talking. "I mean, there's that question people ask all the time, what with the 'if you met yourself as some other person, would you be friends?' or something like that, and I would never be friends with me, so I get why people leave me. I'm nothing special anyway."

Benny leaned against the counter and listened.

"But I mean, I just—I mean I _get_ it. I know I'm not that important or anything," Dean repeated with a humourless cackle. "But it still _sucks_ , you know? Everybody seems to have their lives all neatly—smoothly—bleh, they're all smooth sailing and I'm gonna die alone in their dust." Was that the right saying? Whatever.

"You're still young, Rapunzel."

"I'm thirty one," Dean glared.

"I stand by my point."

Dean sighed dramatically and slumped forward. "Who cares if I'm supposedly young? What's the point anymore, Benny? Tell me." He played with the water residue on the counter. "What's the point of all this anymore? Nobody needs me anymore," he snorted. "They never really needed me, I guess. What's the purpose of my existence now?"

"Well," Benny drawled out thoughtfully. "You can exist for yourself now."

Dean squinted at Benny, and snorted. Benny was nice to him for God knows what reason, even though the line sounded like it was straight out of Disney channel. Or out of the shitty writing Dean wrote that somehow got published and popular enough for a movie, which were all about him and Cas disguised as couples in different universes, which was ridiculous in theory and probably in practice too. Dean didn't deserve any of the niceness from Benny.

"I fuckin' came here to pick someone up," Dean confessed. "Because everybody else seems completely happy without me anyway, so I might as well try to find someone who'll at least fuck me."

"I don't think you'll be doing that with the state you're in."

"You're pretty cute, Benny. We should... do stuff. Mingle. After your shift is done."

Benny chuckled. "You're as smooth as ever."

"Shaddup. You know what I mean."

"Thanks, Rapunzel. Really, I'm flattered," Benny smiled. "Were I not happily married, I might've taken up on your offer back in my days." He wiggled his left hand, the ring reflecting against the dim bar lights.

"Oh," Dean stated lamely. Why had he never noticed the ring before? "Who's the lucky bastard?"

"She's the love of my life," Benny replied, cleaning another glass. "Been married to my darlin' Andrea for 10 years now, and never a day happier."

"So you too," Dean sighed and slunk down further his stool. "You're leaving me too."

"I've always been married the whole time I've known you, Dean," Benny pointed out. "I'm still here, ain't I?"

"Because that's your _job_ , you stupid son of a bitch. They're payin' you to listen to my drunk rambles," Dean laughed, because why else would Benny be here? "God, maybe I _did_ drink too much."

"Yeah, maybe. I'm gonna call you a cab now, Dean. I'm also going to call someone so you don't die in your own puke after you go home."

"Yeah, yeah. Nobody's gonna care," Dean mumbled out, letting Benny grab his phone away from him. Benny quirked an eyebrow and Dean ignored it.

Soon they were outside, the early January air slapping Dean on the face. Benny waited with the phone against his ear, and Dean watched him somberly, his shoulders slump and waiting for that cab Benny called for him. Really, who was he calling anyway, and who would be up at this hour of the night? He could name two off the top of his head, and they were precisely the reason why he came to drink in the first place, and they both lived in California anyway so it wasn't much use. Besides, why would Benny call either of them anyway?

Except this was Dean, and his luck fucking sucked because that's exactly what Benny did.

Heh, that kinda rhymed.

"Hello?" Benny glanced at Dean. "No, I get that I'm not Dean—"

Dean perked up from the curve he was sitting on, and snatched the phone from Benny's hand with curiosity, the voice still talking.

"Who are you? Why do you have—"

"No, no no no," Dean hung up with a definite shake of his head. He did _not_ want to hear that voice, especially not right now when he was drunk and vulnerable.

Shit, did he just hang up on Cas?

Dean almost dropped his phone in surprise when his phone blared up with consistent buzzing, Cas's name burning through Dean's retinas. He stared at the phone for too long wondering if he should answer, and ended up missing the call altogether.

Before he could even understand with his thick brain of his, the phone buzzed again, only with short bursts this time indicating received text messages. Dean fumbled with his phone, and read it word by word.

**[2:35AM] Answer the phone right now**

**[2:35AM] I know where he lives and I will call the police if you don't answer the phone**

Dean attempted a text to tell Cas to chill the fuck out, but his fingers refused to coordinate with him. The phone started buzzing again, and this time Dean answered. "Hello?"

"Dean? The relief was evident, sharply contrasted against the worry that cut through the phone. "Who was that just now? Where are you? Are you alright?"

"Whoa, man, slow down with the questions."

" _Dean_ —"

"I'm fine, Cas. You're such a grumpy bear sometimes." He let out a burst of laughter at the image of Cas wearing a giant teddy bear suit.

"Grumpy—" Dean heard Cas's sigh, and he frowned in confusion. What the fuck did  _he_ have to sigh about? "Dean, are you safe? Just tell me that."

"Why the hell wouldn't I be safe?"

"Right," Cas replied weakly. "Can I talk to the person who had your phone just now?"

"Who, Benny?"

"Yes, Benny."

Dean waved his phone at Benny. "Hey, Cas wants to talk to you but I don't know why."

Benny glanced over to Dean occasionally while he spoke to Cas, sometimes nodding along to the conversation. The conversation itself didn't last long and Benny handed the phone back to Dean. The cab arrived and Benny directed Dean into it, rattling Dean's address to the cabman, probably obtained from Cas, that fucking tattletale.

Dean slumped over the seat. The phone was growing uncomfortably warm against his ear. "I'm on the cab now. I mean, in the cab, not on the cab. Anyway, you can go, if you want."

"I don't mind."

Dean chuckled. "This is almost like how things used to be. But not really, since you're not here."

"What do you mean?"

"Things were... simpler, you know?"

Dean waited for some type of confirmation, but nothing came. So he continued. "You know. You and me and Sam were all near each other, we talked a lot more than we do now, we saw each other every day." Dean pondered and added, "I was your best friend."

"Dean," Cas choked out. "You're still my best friend."

Dean only laughed.

"You are," Cas stated viciously.

"I miss you."

Another silence followed and Dean wondered if the statement was too blunt. Screw it, Cas was always telling him things in the most blunt ways possible, so why couldn't he?

"You're drunk," Cas replied quietly.

"So I'm allowed to say stuff like this. _You_ fucking drive me off the wall with this stuff, so I de _clare_ that I'm allowed this." Dean laughed again, the sound ripped out of his chest. "I miss you, Cas. I miss being near you, and I miss—" Suddenly he didn't feel so drunk anymore, and he wondered what he was doing. "Nevermind," he mumbled.

Dean had to press the phone harder against his ear to make sure Cas didn't just hang up on him. He could still hear Cas's breathing, if barely. "Cas?"

"Who's Benny anyway?"

"Why?" Dean teased. "You jealous?"

"Majorly."

Dean rolled his eyes at the sarcasm dribbling off the sentiment, and maybe a little hurt. "He's a bartender. Nice dude. Cute, too."

He thanked the cab driver and shuffled on his feet while waiting for the elevator. "Maybe I should ask him out."

Okay, so maybe he was baiting Cas like they were still petty high school kids, but the fact that Cas didn't even seem bothered may have riled him up a little. 

"Maybe you should," Cas mumbled.

"Maybe I will. Hey, maybe we could even go on a double date, with you and Daphne and me and Benny. You know, I could bring him to Cali with me when I visit you one day, or something. Or, or I can bring him as my date for your wedding one day," he said, aggressively kicking off his boots. It was a bitter sentiment, but Cas probably heard his offer as a genuine gesture from a best friend. He bet Cas wasn't even remotely jealous.

 _He_ , on the other hand, was fuming with it, and he didn't have any right to be. Alcohol really brought out the worst in him.

"I'm home now, so you can hang up if you want. No need to baby me anymore," Dean mumbled, slumping onto his bed.

Cas sighed. "Dean."

"What?"

"If I had visited you on Christmas break."

Dean's ear perked up at Cas's tone, the phone sandwiched between his ear and his pillow.

"Do you think things would've been different?"

He drew a blank. He scrambled for another interpretation of the sentence other than the glaring obvious (Christmas? When Cas started dating Daphne? If Cas came to visit Dean for Christmas he wouldn't be with Daphne right now?? He could be with—). No, it only sounded that way probably because Dean _wanted_ it to hear it that way.

Or something. He didn't know. He didn't know what was going on inside his own head, so why would anybody expect him to understand what was going on with Cas's? It was really unfair of him to ask him that when he knew he was drunk.

"Dean?"

He was suddenly devoid of energy, and his eyelids were too heavy to support. If he closed his eyes a little, he could pretend Cas was saying his name beside him instead of on the phone. Yeah, and maybe this time, Cas was here to stay and...

"Dean? Hello?"

Maybe it would've been him instead of Daphne who...

 

* * *

 

Dean groaned at the light hitting against his face and rolled to his other side, bringing the sheets with him. Why was this his life, and why did he ever bother drinking, ugh. He smacked his face with a slap and rubbed his cheek lazily. He rubbed his ear and winced at how sore it was. He slept on his phone and—

He stilled his hands. He turned on his back and cracked his eyes open. He stared at the ceiling, his heart drumming hard enough for him to feel it and his stomach fluttering.

Dean turned Cas's words from last night in his head over and over and over again. No, nononono, there _had_ to be some type of platonic way to interpret that sentence.

There had to be.

Right?

Why else would Cas ask him that?

 

* * *

 

_"No te desaparezcas, José María." _

_"Por supuesto que no. Te dije que vine para quedarme, Ismael." _

_"¡Hola, Ismael!" _

_"Laura, ¿qué te trae por aquí?"_

_"Vine a ver tu tienda." _

_"Laura, éste es José María Cortés, mi amigo de la infancia." _

_"Gusto en conocerte. ¿Quién es esta mujer, Ismael?" _

_"Es mi novia." _

_"¿No hacemos una bonita pareja?" _

_"Si, bueno, me voy. Adiós, Ismael, Laura." _

_"Adiós José María."  _

_"Gracias por cubrirme, Laura." _

_"Bueno, me gustaría saber por qué dijiste eso, Ismael." _

Dean turned off the cheesy Spanish soap opera, and peeled himself off the couch, pushing aside empty microwavable dinner trays off his chest. His eyes stung from watching too much of that crap. He stretched his whole body towards the ceiling and scratched his belly, craning his neck a few times.

He slumped against his refrigerator with his head rested against his phone in his hands. Everything was screwed up, and he didn't want to do this. He really, _really_ didn't. He'd rather sulk about this for the rest of his life until he starved to death on his kitchen floor.

But he had to do _something_ about this.

He couldn't go on denying it forever.

That was the conclusion he came up with after watching five hours of terrible Spanish soap operas and moping all day, and the decision was final.

"This is it, Dean Winchester," he mouthed around the words. They were too loud in the midst of the silence of his otherwise empty kitchen. "No going back once you press this button."

His thumb hovered over the call button and brushed it back and forth, hesitation blooming again. Was he really ready for this? Could he take this risk? Was he—

"Shit," Dean yelped as a bit too forceful brush of his thumb accidentally pressed the button. " _Fuck_ —"

"Hello?"

His heart plummeted down to his stomach at the sound from the speaker end.

"Dean? Hello?"

He should hang up. This was a stupid idea, and Dean Winchester was not one to talk about things like this, and he was pretty sure he'd be just bothering him anyway—

_Do you think things would've been different?_

Right.

Dean took a deep breath.

Fuck it.

"Hey. You busy?"

A pause. "I have time. What is it, Dean?"

"I need to talk to you. Don't freak out," he licked his dried lips.

"Okay...? What's up?"

"I think," Dean ground out firmly with a gulp. This was it. "Sam, I might be... It's about Cas."

 

* * *

 

"Yes, thank you. Good night."

Castiel hung up the phone in exasperation. He pinched the bridge between his brows, wishing things were simpler. Of course, those were wistful thoughts as things have _never_ been simple. He heaved a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping forward.

A touch on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. His quickened heartbeat slowed down as his brain caught up what was happening. "Daphne."

"Hey," she smiled worriedly. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Thank you." He tried to smile and failed.

It was all very exhausting.

"I'm going to head out for tonight. I've gotten all my lecture notes sorted out for the week." She patted his shoulder lightly. Castiel hadn't noticed the coat slung around her body until now.

"Yes, of course." Castiel stood from his chair, only to be stopped by Daphne.

"It's okay, Castiel. You look super tired," she soothed him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Castiel stilled in his seat and sat forward, his hands grasped together. "Thank you."

She frowned in confusion and pulled up a chair beside him. "For?"

"For agreeing to this," he gestured between himself and her. "I know I'm asking for too much—"

"Castiel, we've talked about this before. This is a deal, not a one-sided agreement," Daphne smiled sadly. "We're both hopefully getting something out of this, so don't thank me."

"How's that going, by the way? With Emmanuel?"

"Pretending he doesn't know anything is going on and still ignoring me, as always," Daphne sighed. "What about you and Dean?"

"He congratulated me," Castiel said bitterly. "He suggested that we go on double dates with him and his bartender."

And fell asleep on him, just as he swallowed down his nerves and asked him an important question.

"Oh, Cas," Daphne tutted sympathetically and bit her lips. "Are you alright?"

Castel sighed. "I'm beginning to think this was a stupid idea, and you should've never agreed to my plans."

"Don't give up now. He'll come around."

Castiel raised his eyebrows in question, and she shrugged. "I've heard things about Dean from Balthazar. I don't think it's as far-fetched as you think it might be."

Castiel made a mental note to remind Balthazar— _again_ —to stop gossiping about Dean and him. "How can you be so sure?"

Daphne hummed. "Love works in mysterious ways. I know Emmanuel will come back around eventually, and so will Dean. I'm sure of it."

"You forget that Dean and I were never in an established relationship, unlike you and Emmanuel," Castiel muttered weakly.

"He'll come around," she said firmly. She snorted playfully and Castiel stared in question. She shook her head. "I thought once I became an adult, things would be... easier to handle. Instead, here I am having a passive-aggressive spat with my ex-boyfriend. Maybe it's about time he and I sat down and have an actual conversation like proper adults."

"Good luck."

She laughed. "Thanks. Hey, you too. Don't let this get you down." She kissed him gently on the cheek. "Good night, Castiel. I'll see you in the office tomorrow."

"Drive back safely."

After the click of his front door, Castiel took in the silence that followed. He turned his head slightly to his right to stare at Hector Afranian's books stacked neatly into his bookcase. He leaned back into his chair and regarded the books. He'd waited for over ten years. He could wait a few more, though he was admittedly growing impatient by the hours.

He huffed and stretched in his seat. With renewed confidence and hope, Castiel went back to his research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue from the Spanish soap opera Dean was watching is from [this](http://youtu.be/Q8dnjx_zpg8?t=8m4s), but I've switched the order of the dialogue around. The only thing I know in spanish is "hola", "adios" and "señor/señorita", but [personalunatica](http://archiveofourown.org/users/personalunatica/pseuds/personalunatica) saw the google translated dialogues and decided to help me out from the goodness of their heart. I _cannot_ stress how thankful I am of this!!!
> 
> The translations for those who download to view are:
> 
> "Don't be a stranger, José María."  
> "Of course not. I told you I'm here to stay, Ismael."  
> "Hello, Ismael!"  
> "Laura, what brings you here?"  
> "I came to see your store."  
> "Laura, this is José Maria Cortex, my childhood friend."  
> "Nice to meet you. Who's this woman, Ismael?"  
> "She's my girlfriend."  
> "Don't we make a cute couple?"  
> "Yes. Well, I'm leaving. Good bye, Ismael, Laura."  
> "Good bye, José María."  
> "Thanks for covering for me, Laura."  
> "Well, I'd like to know why you said that, Ismael."


	8. Chapter 8

Dean gnawed at his lips as he waited. And waited. And waited yet again.

"So..." Sam finally spoke, jolting Dean's heart in surprise. "Now what?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Now you forget about everything I said in the last 10 minutes and we go back to talking about football and grilling barbeques."

"You don't even like football."

"Shut up."

"No, but..." Sam hummed. Dean held his breath. There was no doubt Sam's opinion on this was important to him, no matter what he told himself before he made the call. "Well, okay."

"Okay? _Okay_?"

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Dean. What else do you want me to say?"

"I— don't." Dean cleared his throat. "Good. Okay."

"Do you want to... talk about it?"

"What? No."

"Dean."

"What?"

Sam sighed. "Dean, if you want to talk to me, then talk to me. This is important to you and I'm glad you've finally gotten around to... admitting that you're in love with Cas."

"Like," Dean sputtered. "A crush. It's a small thing."

Sam's silence was an obvious indication he was being thoroughly judged by his bitchface. "Shut up, don't give me that face."

"Dean , you can't even _see_ my face."

"You know what I'm talking about."

"So..." Sam ignored him. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Do about it? Sam, dude's got himself a girlfriend. I'm not gonna _do_ anything about it."

"She's a pretty nice girlfriend, too," Sam admitted.

"What," Dean blinked. "You've met her?"

"Yeah. Jess and I went out for dinner with him and uh, Daphne was it?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, she's nice. And smart. And uh, actually pretty funny." Sam cleared his throat. "This really isn't helping, is it?"

"Not one bit."

"I mean, you're smart too. You're one of the smartest people I know. You're... a dick, but you... _can_ be funny, if you really tried, so there's that. And uh, I don't know, you're pretty attractive, probably. And uhm—"

"Sam."

"Yeah?"

"Just, stop." Dean let out a small chuckle despite the situation. "You sound suffocated."

"Yeah, okay. Sorry. But hey, uh, they didn't seem completely comfortable with each other either," Sam added helpfully.

"Sam, they've been together for like, what, a week? I'd find it weirder if they _were_ completely comfortable around each other. Besides, this is Cas." Dean scrubbed his face. "Stupid, awkward, no-knack for social skills Cas—"

Fuck. _Fuck_. He saw this coming from miles away, but _still_.

This was all before he found out how selfish he really was.

"Fuck," Dean breathed, walking back and forth in the kitchen. "Fuck, Sam."

"What?"

"I should've—" Dean licked his lips and huffed in irritation. "I should've _told_ him. I should've just fucking sucked it up and admitted all this— _Fuck_."

He should've damned the consequences and damned how awkward it would've been between them after he told Cas. At least, that way he wouldn't be sitting here with the phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline, the small little _doubt_ nagging at the back of his mind, a quiet whispering of _what if he had accepted you_?

"What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Sammy?" he mumbled desperately, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew there wasn't an answer to the question, but he was so mad at himself he couldn't help but ask it. If only he had another chance, _if only_ , but it was way too late for that since Cas was now with some _smart_ and _nice_ and _funny_ person who he was probably happy with and actually on Cas's level and she was _nothing_ like _Dean_ and—

 _Fuck_.

Sam's quiet words cut through his thoughts. "You could tell him about the books."

Dean perked up at the words. He was crazy and desperate enough to actually consider them for a split second. "Are you fucking _insane_?"

"Everyone in our family's a little insane, Dean."

"This isn't _funny _."__

"I'm perfectly serious," Sam said with his serious tone. "Tell him about your books. He's read them all by now, right? Don't you think that'll at least help Cas understand how much you love— er, like him?"

"Don't you think it's borderline creepy that I've been writing _about_ him without him _knowing_?"

"Well, it's not like you gushed over, I don't know, the colour of his eyes or something."

Dean didn't say anything to that.

"God. You totally did, didn't you?"

"No," Dean replied defensively.

"Jesus, you're such a sap—"

"Sam, would you just shut up?"

"I think it's flattering. _Cas_ might think so, too."

"Sam, I'm not going to try to—to _flatter_ Cas away from Daphne," Dean strained out.

"Why not?"

He had no rights. Not after all these years, not after all those chances he'd missed because of his own fucking cowardice, not after Cas finally found someone he was happy with.

"I just. It's not for me to decide anymore."

"So give him a chance to choose, Dean. He can't exactly decide himself if he doesn't even know _about_ it."

Dean let out a shuddering sigh. "I... I wasn't planning to tell him either."

"Are you going to do _anything_ about it?" The question wasn't accusatory, but sympathetic with a tint of understanding. Bless him, he didn't even say anything about Dean denying all this in the first place.

"No," Dean said with finality. "I'll white knuckle this through until I'm over it, I guess."

__

* * *

__

"Ya freaking idjit." Bobby smacked Garth on his arm with a roll of newspaper. "I _told_ you to change to your snow tires around November."

 __"__ Ow, Bobby!" Garth whimpered, trying to block Bobby's whackings with his cast arm. "It wasn't a big accident. I'm fine."

Dean huffed as he changed the tires on Garth's car. "Dude, this would've cost you at least a grand anywhere else," he said, pointing at the dent on the bumper from the impact.

Garth shrugged. "More business for you guys, right? Besides, I've got insurance," he grinned easily.

Bobby glared. "I don't want your god damn insurance money. I want your sorry ass _alive_."

Garth straightened and scratched his head sheepishly. "Sorry, Bobby."

Bobby grumbled and stomped back into his office. Garth glanced at Dean helplessly, and he couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Aw, he ain't actually mad. Go, I'll be fine. This might take a while anyway."

"You sure? I don't want you lonely all by yourself—"

"Garth, Go."

He nodded. "I'm goin' to see if he'll loosen up with a month-free dental rate at my place."

Dean chuckled. "You do that."

After replacing the tires, Dean was replacing the ruined bumper of Garth's car and almost missed the tiny man walking towards him.

Dean wiped his hands on a rag and tossed it to the side. "What the hell do you want _now_?"

Gabriel stood in front of Dean, and regarded him without saying anything back for once. He studied him for so long that it was starting to make Dean really, really uncomfortable.

"What? Got nothing to say smarmy for once?"

Gabriel scoffed. "Don't be a smartass. I came to see you."

"No shit. What is it?"

"Right to the point, are we?" Gabriel raised his eyebrows. He shrugged. "The name Hector Afranian ring any bells?"

"Nope," he replied, ignoring the way his hands turned clammy. He knew. He _knew_. No, he _couldn't_ , his personal information was strictly confidential—

 __"__ Oh, that's cute," Gabriel rolled his eyes. "From what I know, you told Cas that he's your favourite author."

"Did I say that? Oh wait, that's _none of your business_."

Gabriel crossed his arms. "How about," he drawled out, word by word, "because Hector Afranian is actually one of the biggest fish for his publisher, and as the CEO of the publishing company that also happens to be its biggest rival, it is _very_ much my business, Dean?"

 __"__ And what's that got to do with me?" managed Dean. His blood ran cold, but he gritted his teeth and kept his calm.

"I read them, the books by him," Gabriel picked at his nails casually. "Pretty well written and oh so heart-wrenching. A little too much on the sappy side for my own taste but hey, nothing wrong with variety. Did I mention the characterization? Fantastic job on capturing my little bro perfectly."

Dean stared. Gabriel stared back impassively. He raised his right eyebrow. "You there, Dean?"

He licked his lips. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Don't you _dare,_ " Gabriel glared, and Dean clamped his mouth shut. He had to give it to the guy for intimidating him when he was about half his size. "Don't you deny this, Dean Winchester."

Dean shut his eyes and counted one, two, three. "What do you want?" he gritted out with finality. No going back now.

"What?"

"There's no _way_ you just _happened_ to dig up about me for no reason. So what do you want?"

Gabriel mockingly gasped. "Dean, I'm hurt you'd accuse me of such things."

"I don't give one single flying fuck," Dean said with a thin smile. "Get this over with."

Gabriel nodded with a shrug. "You need to stop writing," he said matter-of-factly.

Dean blinked. "What?"

 __"__ Tell you what, I'll even give you an offer." Gabriel took out a cheque book and a pen. "A heap of money every month sent your way from _moi,_ as long as you don't write anymore."

"What the hell are you going on about?" Dean demanded. "Am I what, threatening your company or something?"

"Sure. Let's go with that."

"Bullshit. Tell me."

Gabriel's smile fell. He straightened his back and squared out his shoulders, any trace of his usual demeaning attitude gone and instead replaced with a regal posture. "You really think you deserve the truth at this point, when you've been lying to my brother for how many years?"

Dean clenched his jaw tight and stared at the little crack evident on the floor beside Gabriel's left foot. The Shurleys always had that air about them—Michael and his towering presence, Gabriel with his occasional shifts, Cas and his righteous fury from time to time. Dean had never met Luke, but he wondered if he was the same way, and if so, he hoped he would never have to find out first-hand. "No, but I'd like to know why you give a shit now after all these years."

Gabriel hummed. "While I don't care about however Cas spends his free time, I'm not for him wasting his time on someone who's never going to do anything about this."

Dean stiffened, but didn't retort.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "You have nothing to say to that?"

"What is there to say?"

"See, that," Gabriel jabbed a finger at his face, " _tha_ _t_ concerns me. You're half-assing the whole thing, and as far as I know, Cas has been through enough. He doesn't need to go through more because of _you_."

"Yeah, I get that." Dean turned away.

"Do you, Dean?"

"What do you saying I should do, then?" he snapped. "Should I cut off all ties with him? Should I just stay away from him altogether? 'Cause that ain't happening."

"I want you to _do_ something about it, or stop spinning my brother into your stories like he's some vending machine that you can insert coin into and get plots out of him!"

Anger spiked through Dean's chest, and he stepped right into Gabriel's space. "Listen to me, you son of a bitch," he growled low, confidently meeting Gabriel's equally sharp glare. "I would never _reduce_ Cas to a subject I can write about so I can gain _money_ , alright? I don't expect you to get it, but don't you _dare_ presume to know how much he means to me. _Ever._ "

"Then why don't you _do_ something about it, instead of _sitting on your ass_ moaning on paper about _HOW MUCH IN LOVE_ WITH HIM YOU ARE!"

" _BECAUSE I CAN'T LOSE HIM!_ "

They both paused, huffing in deep breaths from yelling at the top of their lungs. Bobby peaked out from his office with a grim expression. "Everything alright out here?"

"Fine, Bobby," Dean gritted, his eyes not leaving Gabriel.

"You stupid, simple ignorant _dumbass,"_ Gabriel scowled. "Haven't you considered that you're already losing him by not doing anything?"

"So what do you expect me to do, fly off to Cali and barge into his already perfectly constructed life and hope everything doesn't go to shit?"

Gabriel met him with silence.

"What, _seriously_?"

He shrugged. "Maybe his life isn't as picture perfect as you make it out to be."

"A steady job, a girlfriend who sounds perfect for Cas, and a nice house? I'd say he's pretty set," Dean replied dryly.

Gabriel hummed. "Like they say, Dean-o, don't judge a book by its covers. _You_ out of all people ought to know that."

 __"__ What?"

"A man who lives in Sioux Falls named Dean Winchester is a average mechanic by day, but he harbours a secret absolutely nobody must know," Gabriel smirked with a dramatic wave of his hand in the air. Dean groaned. "Mechanic by day, but at night he's known as the secret romantic ladies' men, Hector Afra—"

"Okay, alright, enough," Dean swatted him away. "You make me sound like a gigolo more than anything."

"I don't think you have enough manners to qualify as one."

"Are you done?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. If you could muster up half the energy it took you to yell at me about how much you love my little bro to actually tell _him_ about it, that'd be great thanks." With those words in the wind, Gabriel turned to leave.

"Hey."

Gabriel slowly spun on his heels. "Jeez, you're fussier than a cat getting a belly rub. Do you want me to leave or not?"

"How'd you know the characters were Cas anyway?"

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Seriously?" he took Dean's silence as the cue. "Have you _read_ your own work? Anyone who knows those books have been written by you would be able to tell. They're practically novel-sized love letters to him."

Dean could feel the flush seeping through his cheeks and blamed it on the January cold. He scrubbed his face. "Don't tell him."

"What, that you're Hector Afranian?"

"Yeah."

"Is that really the attitude of someone asking for a favour?"

Dean smiled without humour. "If you tell Cas, I'll make sure you'll never get another night of peaceful sleep again."

Gabriel snorted. "Cute. It's really too bad Luke already does that for you."

Dean's smile slipped. "Hey man, I—"

"You're too soft, Dean. Stay that way." Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows. "Anyway, I appreciate the kind offer of your company at night, but you're not my type. Besides, Cas really might kill me if you went to the wrong Shurley kid for those nightly visits."

Dean hid his flushing by chucking the oily towel at Gabriel, which didn't even touch him as he ran off with a cackle left behind.

* * *

__

Dean was chatting with Charlie and Jo on Skype when Cas's little icon popped up on the side of his screen, indicating that he was online.

"I gotta go, Cas is on," Dean said quickly.

It was a voice-only group chat, but he could still hear Charlie's smirk in her voice. "Ooookay, Dean. Have fun."

"Shut up," he gruffed. Jo laughed in the background.

"Love you too!"

"Man, I miss Cas. Tell him I said hi, Dean!" Jo called.

"Do it yourself."

"Asshole!"

Cas took a little longer than usual to answer, long enough to have Dean wonder if he accidentally left Skype on again, when Cas answered. He didn't look too happy for some reason. "Dean."

"Hey, Cas. You okay?"

"Fine." Cas's eyes darted to the side. "Dean, I'm glad you called. This is a... good opportunity."

"For?"

"Well. Daphne is over, and she'd like to meet you."

Dean stiffened. They were both consenting adults in a romantic relationship with healthy sexual appetites (Dean was assuming here of course) and it wouldn't make sense if they didn't want to engage in uh, adult activities that involved being over at one's place (again, assuming since they could've been, who knows, playing scrabbles together or something) and he was going to stop himself right there. "Oh. Uh—"

"Hi, Dean." A woman pressed against Cas's side, startling both Dean and Cas. Light-ish hair, fair complexion and from what he could tell, amber eyes. She wore a dimpled smile, and really, she'd be a lovelier person if she wasn't stuck next to Cas like that. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Did you? I've heard... things about you too." Dean tried to smile back, pointedly not staring at her arms looped around Cas's. "Uh, from Sam. Not that I was prodding or anything." Dean cleared his throat. "Anyway."

She didn't seem fazed by Dean's awkward attempt at socializing. If anything, her smile widened and her grip tightened around Cas. "I've heard you've been good friends with Cas for a while."

Right, okay, so she was calling him 'Cas' too. That was fine. It wasn't like that was a Dean-exclusive thing anyway. Sam called him that. _Everybody_ called Cas _Cas_.

"I— Yeah. High school buddies," Dean laughed, and almost winced at how fake it sounded. He could _feel_ the concern pouring out from Cas's general direction so he took it as his mission to not take his eyes off of Daphne. This is the person Cas chose to be with, and if he was already introducing her to him, then, well... She must be important, right? And being the bestest best friend there was, Dean wasn't going to screw this up for Cas.

Dean wasn't even sure what the rest of their conversation consisted of. They talked briefly about each other, then the conversation turned into talking about how great of a guy Cas was, which of course _logically_ sailed the conversation towards their work.

"So, a new semester huh? Must be tough for you guys."

Daphne tutted and rubbed Cas's arm absently in a fond sort of a way. "Oh, but Cas is so hard-working he won't have a problem."

Dean's smile felt so strained he wondered how he hadn't gotten a muscle cramp on his face yet. "Right, yeah. Cas is a trooper."

Daphne hummed and nodded along. She suddenly jumped out of her seat with blinding smile. "Look at the time! Sweetheart, we better get ready for the dinner or we'll be late."

"Oh, um—"

"Oh, I'll take a while though, so you boys talk."

Dean watched her leave the room. "You guys going out?" he asked dumbly.

"We're having dinner with few other people from the department."

"Right. So what, you and her and Balthazar?"

"And Emmanuel."

"Balthazar's date?"

Cas let out a surprised snort, all the tension leaving his body (which was another thing; Cas seemed  _super_ nervous the entire time Dean and Daphne talked, probably worried that Dean or Daphne might not like each other. Well, Dean liked her enough as a person, but he was also a  _tad_ bit bitter and probably will remain so, at least for a little while until Dean moved on with his miserable, single life). His snort led to a little quiet laugh, and Dean frowned with confusion as he watched Cas compose himself again. "Um, no. Not Balthazar's date. He's Daphne's ex-boyfriend."

"Wow, uh, okay." Dean didn't ask if all the staffs at Stanford typically dated everyone else in their department.

"I should probably get ready as well."

"Right."

Neither of them made an attempt to move or hang up. After what seemed like million light years but still too soon, Cas reached for his mouse.

Dean heard someone say with his voice, "Cas, wait."

Cas halted in motion and stared at Dean with undivided attention. "Yes?"

"I—" Dean felt the words threatening to spill from the tip of his tongue. _I can't let you do this. Don't go to dinner with her. Don't leave._

_Stay with me._

"I like her, Daphne," he smiled. "Have fun at dinner."

Cas shot him a withering smile, and Dean briefly thought back to Cas's workload. He must be having a tough time, balancing work and stuff like dating in between. Why else would he look so tired while going on a date? "Thank you, I will." 

"Tell Balthazar to go eat a dick. Actually, don't tell him that. He'll probably take it as an encouragement."

Cas huffed a laugh and held Dean's gaze. "I'll talk to you later, Dean."

 _Goodbye_. "Yeah."

The call shut off and Dean was left in the silence of his room except for the gently whirring of his laptop.

Fuck. This was all Gabriel's fault, planting useless thoughts in Dean's head, claiming things that weren't remotely true. He wasn't going to interfere in the first place, so there was no point getting angry at himself for being too chickenshit to do anything about this.

 _Fuck._ He was so fucking screwed.

 

* * *

__

"So," Sam drawled. "You know I can't make it to your birthday thing with mom and dad next week."

Dean clenched his jaw. "I swear, if you apologize for that again—"

"No, no," Sam intervened quickly. "I thought... Maybe you could come over here. You know, not the actual weekend of your birthday, but maybe the weekend after?"

Dean paused. "Wouldn't it make more sense if _you_ came over _here_? It's _my_ birthday, you know."

"I know, but if you came over _here_ , you'd get to see me _and_ Jess _and_ Cas. It's like a triple deal wrapped into one, you know? And you and Jess have the same birthdays, so we can all celebrate together."

"Pay for my gas and maybe I'll consider it."

"Done."

"Dude, I'm kidding. Jesus."

"But you'll come?"

Dean flipped through his calendar. He had a meeting with his editor the week after his birthday, but his schedule was free the week after. When he told Sam this, he could hear the sound of paper flipping and Sam mumbling to himself.

"Yeah, that should work out for me and Jess. You can stay with us too."

"Sweet. Hey, don't tell Cas."

"Uh, why not?"

"Dude got a jump on me last time, no thanks to you."

"So it's your turn now."

"Basically."

"How old are you?"

Dean grinned. "Old enough."

Sam laughed. "Alright, Dean. I'll see you then."

"Yep. Bye."

Dean stretched his neck. It was mid-afternoon and he could hopefully get some writing done. These days he felt like he was pushing the words out of his mouth with a stable broom, and that was no surprise considering the way things were with Cas.

Dean was happy for the guy. He really was. Daphne seemed like a sweet, smart and easygoing person and probably less of an eyesore if she wasn't stuck right next to Cas. _Where I should be._

He whiffed away the ugly thought. Cas deserved no less than someone like Daphne, and that person certainly wasn't him.

Well. Probably. Who knew.

He threw away all those times when he could've found out, and it was nobody's fault but his own. He had no right to whine about it now.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean woke, startled by his own snoring. He hadn't realize he'd fallen asleep, though it felt like he'd gotten a full hour nap instead of 5 minutes dozing off at his desk. He blearily scrubbed his face with a sigh and stretched, idly scratching his belly. He gulped down the glass of lukewarm water that he brought back to his room hours ago.

He popped in a piece of licorice and chewed it thoroughly, mulling over the conversations he'd recently had over Skype with the director and the producers of their movie. He'd seen the trailers for it, and he wanted to hide in his bathroom from embarrassment. God, people were going to _watch_ his story, and while he was there for majority of filming the thing, it was still an idea he was having a hard time wrapping his head around. He hadn't answered their invitation of watching it at the premiere, which he should probably decide on soon.

He stared at the word document of his novel on his laptop screen, which stared back at him. He remembered not having _any_ motivations to write when Balthazar came around, and before that, with Meg Masters back in college years. Still, this was different somehow.

Parts of him knew it was unrealistic to think Daphne would be The One for Cas. The whole _concept_ of The One was a bit ridiculous, no matter what any of the romcoms told people otherwise. People fell in and out of love and moved on with life all the time. They may find someone else to fall in love with, or maybe they didn’t. It was a process as natural as birth and death, and Dean often scoffed at the couples who thought they’d stay together forever because they’d been together for maybe a year.

A bigger part of him knew the days of fooling around were behind them, and if Daphne wasn't The One for Cas, the next one might be. Or the one after that, or the one after _that_. It wasn't so much that Daphne could be The One, but Cas calling Daphne as a significant other, taking the time to _label_ her and giving her actual worth in his life instead of a good lay that Meg Master or Balthazar might have been. It was only the _beginning_ of the end rather than the end.

It terrified him.

The ringing sound of an incoming Skype call startled Dean out of his thoughts. He blinked and focused his gaze on his blaring laptop screen to see Cas's incoming call. His heart simultaneously shrunk and expanded at the same time, and he wondered if Cas was a good enough reason to visit a cardiologist.

He had half a mind to ignore the call in case Daphne was over again. It really wasn't that he didn't like her, but he really didn't want to see her in context of Cas again.

He was a sleazy, selfish bastard, is what he was.

His shoulders tensed involuntarily at the sight of Cas, and let out a little breath of relief when no Daphne was in sight. "Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean."

"How was... How was dinner last night?"

"It..."

Cas stared at his monitor without moving for so long that Dean thought his video feed froze. "Cas, you there? I think your webcam—"

Cas's eyes glanced up at the sound of Dean's voice, and Dean almost jumped back. Okay, so, not frozen then. "Did Balthazar do something stupid or something?"

"No, dinner went fine. It went as planned." Cas opened his mouth and closed it again.

"Well, that's... good, right?"

"Yes, of course. Daphne and I broke up," he said matter-of-factly.

Dean's brain went on hold. "What?"

"Daphne and I broke up."

Somewhere at the back of his mind, a choir was singing the [chorus of Handel's _Messiah_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=76RrdwElnTU), and it was probably the most inappropriate thought he could've had at the moment. He shooed the choir away. "What the hell happened?"

"She got back together with Emmanuel. They've reconciled their differences and set aside their insecurities after dinner last night."

"Jesus." Relief, a flash of anger towards Daphne who probably didn't even realize what she had lost, then a weird mix of the two washed over Dean. "I... I'm sorry, Cas."

Cas fucking _shrugged_. "Don't be. It wasn't real."

"Cas, I know you were only with her for like, two weeks at the most but I'd say it was still pretty fucking real—"

"No, I mean we were in a fake relationship," he replied, impatience thinly coating his tone.

Dean blinked. "Huh?"

When Dean thought it wasn't possible, Cas's posture stiffened even _more_ , his shoulders rigid and his whole body tense. "I agreed to be her fake-boyfriend so Emmanuel would become jealous, and help him admit his faults in their fight so they could go back to the way they were before."

Dean blinked, silenced with astonishment.

"Having dinner with him was to remind him who he was giving up on over his pride. A rude wake-up call, if you will."

"Uh huh," Dean said faintly.

"I've received her help in exchange as well."

Dean took a moment to process all of this. Daphne wasn't—

_What?_

"Then... what the fuck was the stuff from last night about? Why didn't you just tell me you were pretending?"

"I... It was necessary that our act was convincing enough to fool Emmanuel. Daphne and I agreed it would be best if we didn't tell anyone, especially our close friends. Balthazar doesn't know about this either. He thinks I'm going through a break-up right now."

"To fool your enemies you must fool your friends, is that it?"

"Yes, exactly."

Dean slumped on his chair and let out a huff, feeling lightheaded. The huff turned into a hysterical laughing fit of a sort, because there was nothing not hilarious about this in the end. Not only was the whole shenanigan straight out of old-school romcom trope materials, it actually _worked_ on both Emmanuel and himself; though he doubted it was supposed to be a rude wake-up call for Dean as well.

It wasn't like he could lie to himself now, after all that turmoil he went through while he was under the impression that Cas and Daphne were dating. By now he knew better than anyone that he was undeniably and _completely_ in love with his best friend, and now, he _actually_ had the luxury of putting his _what if_ theories to practice instead of drowning more of his sorrow in alcohol and bad Spanish soaps and TV dinners.

God, the amount of _relief_ that flooded him was downright ridiculous, because this was _it._

This was the chance he'd been asking for.

"Dean? What's so funny?" Cas asked with a frown, and his voice anchored Dean back to the present.

"Nothing, just. I'm amazed you were able to fool everyone so completely, that's all." Dean shook his head. "Seriously, man, awesome acting skills."

_Why don't you tell him about the books?_

Dean stared at Cas through the monitor. It would be so easy to tell him. Utter few words and the deed would be done. But he couldn't.

Not now, anyway.

During the rest of their conversation, Dean was distracted with his own thoughts. Cas's voice drifted away and only when he stopped talking completely did Dean blink back into focus.

"Dean, are you all right?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, I think." He scrubbed his face. "Think I'm gonna hit the hay."

"Oh. Alright. I'll talk to you later, Dean."

This time, Dean answered with a small, genuine grin. "See ya, Cas."

 

* * *

 

His actual birthday went by in a flash. He went back to Lawrence with Bobby in tow to celebrate with John, Mary, Ellen and a bunch of other family friends. He swatted off of the jokes about how old he was getting and few of 'isn't it about time you found someone?'. His phone was on fire that night with constant phone calls, including Sam and Jess, Ash, Charlie, Jo and even his editor.

When Cas's name popped up on caller ID, Dean excused himself from the loud drinking (water) contest John and Bobby were having by the table.

"Hey," he consciously greeted without uttering his name for the fear of John hearing him, quietly shutting the screen door behind him.

"Dean." Dean could tell Cas was smiling, which made him smile in turn. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks, man."

"Did you receive a lot of presents?"

Dean chuckled, rubbing his nose. Damn, it was cold outside and he didn't think to bring a coat with him. "God, wait till I show you what Charlie and Dorothy sent me for my birthday. Jesus, I don't even know what it exactly  _is_."

Cas laughed, and Dean savoured the sound. It felt like it'd been so long since he'd last heard it. "Did _you_ get me anything?" he teased.

"I—" Cas cleared his throat in embarrassment. "No, I didn't. I'm sorry, Dean."

"Dude, it's fine." Dean leaned against the wall and looked up at the sky, watching his breath puff out. He hesitated a little before saying, "This is already the best gift you could've given me."

Confusion marred his voice. "What is?"

Dean could feel the heat rising up on his cheeks. Christ, one fake girlfriend later and self-realization later, Dean was already turning into a giant sap. "Talking to you on my birthday," he replied, shoving down the embarrassment that rose.

Cas went quiet on the other end. "I'm glad to be talking to you too," he said softly.

Dean laughed. "Well, good."

Cas quietly chuckled. Dean watched the snow fall, tiny little fluffs falling across the sky. Fuck, he was cold.

"Dean, are you outside?"

"Yeah?"

"You're cold."

"Nah, I'm fine."

"Dean, your teeth are chattering. I can hear them through the phone."

God damn it. He clamped his jaw shut, but that didn't work out as well as he'd hoped.

"Go back inside. You're freezing," Cas gently reprimanded.

It was tempting to just talk with Cas for the rest of the night, sitting on his childhood house's porch freezing his ass off and watching the snow fall. "Thanks for the birthday wishes, man."

"Of course. I'll speak to you later."

Oh, he had no idea. Dean smirked at the idea of catching Cas by surprise soon. "Night."

As soon as the call ended, Dean fiddled with his phone. He heard a distinct howl of laughter from behind him. Probably Ellen.

They were all so happy inside for his birthday, and Dean couldn't have his best friend by his side to celebrate, let alone be able to give him an invitation in the first place.

There was something fundamentally wrong about that. The fact that he needed an _approval_ from John, that he had to sneak around since his high school years to be able to keep his best friend. It wasn't spoken, but he knew it, Cas knew it and even Sam and Mary knew it.

He'd known it for a long, long time, but he was so _sick_ of trying to please everyone else but himself. Call him selfish, because this was what it was, but he wanted to let himself be taken over by emotions and let himself _be_. He wanted to let all of humanity know how much in love he was with Castiel Shurley, and he wanted it known to everyone who had ever taken that away from him.

Screw John. Screw his prejudice against the Shurleys, screw Dean's insecurities, and seriously screw watching from the sidelines as Cas skipped away from him with someone else hand-by-hand while regretting not having told Cas about whatever it was that Dean should've told him, like feelings and stuff.

Anyway. It was about time Dean made a stance, and he was making it now.

Of course, he'd be lying if he'd said he was calm about this. It felt more like thousands of fireworks were going off at once inside Dean's stomach as he dialed the phone number on the business card for his first move, and listened to it ring.

This was Dean Winchester, standing up. For himself.

Click. "Hello?"

Dean watched his breath fog up in the cold. "Hey, Tessa? It's Dean. The, uh, author."

"I know you’re the author, Dean. We’ve only been working together for the past year," they said, amused. "I'm assuming you're calling about the movie. What is it?"

"I was wondering if you could make a slight change."

"Dean, we have one week before we start distributing to major theaters—"

"I just need a personal message at the end. You can do that, right?"

He heard a sigh. Tessa had been too good of an executive producer for him so far, but he knew they had a bit of a soft spot for him. "I'm listening."

 

* * *

 

Dean was greeted with a giant bear hug from the gigantic, enormous brother of his. He shook hands with Jess and they kissed on each other's cheeks, who he still felt somewhat awkward around after five odd years. The way she was always so efficient about things kinda intimidated him on a weird level. He was also still a little on edge about the fact that she was one of the people who held power over Sam's well being in that if she were to ever end things with Sam he'd be fucking _wrecked_ , which was a frightening thought. 

Dean walked behind Sam and Jess as he followed them up to their apartment. He whistled low at the place, not too big but definitely homely with its warm beige walls and pictures all over the place. On the walls, on the drawer, stuck on the fridge with magnets were all photos of them with their friends, some of them of Jess' family and some Dean recognized from the Winchesters’ photo albums.

After Dean had unpacked his stuff, he found Sam stuffing a bread roll into his mouth. "Leaving already?"

"Mmfh," he replied around a mouthful of bread. "I gotta get back before my lunch break is over. I'll see you tonight."

Jess gave him a peck on the lips and waved him goodbye. When Sam closed the door behind him, Jess turned to Dean. "So Dean, did you have anything you want to do here?"

"I didn't really think about it before coming. Hey, can you point me to the university? I wanted to visit later today."

"Yeah, it's right down—" Jess scrunched up her face and yawned. "God, sorry."

"Didn't get much sleep?"

"Something like that," she smiled tiredly. "I was called in last night, so."

Dean blinked at this new information. "Jesus Jess, go take a nap."

"I couldn't possibly—"

"Jess," Dean said firmly. "If you don't get any rest, you might end up slipping under operation and some poor guy could end up with a scalpel where his kidney should be."

She laughed and Dean relaxed a little. "I may still be an intern, but I work with a professional attitude, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah. Go sleep, I'll be fine. No need to play host for me, miss surgeon-to-be."

"Are you sure? I—"

"Go. I was planning on visiting Cas anyway."

" _Oh_. Well, okay then."

"Hey, what—"

"I'm going to go take that nap now. Have fun, Dean!"

Seeing nothing else but a whirlwind of curly blonde hair, Jess quickly left to her and Sam's room just like that. Jesus, what the hell had Sam been telling her about him?

Dean looked up the directions to the university from Sam's apartment and made his way over in the Impala. He trotted along the walkway to the building Cas was in, pulling at his t-shirt. He looked around the floor and found a sign that pointed to room numbers. In hindsight, he probably should've checked which room Cas's office was before leaving Sam and Jess' apartment.

"Fuck." He looked around his surroundings. There was a reception desk nearby but the sign read 'not available', which was fucking helpful. A girl, presumably a student, walked by him, and he approached her trying to not feel like a complete creep.

"Hey, d'you know where, uh, professor Shurley's office is?"

She nervously shifted on her feet as she shook her head in response. "No, sorry."

"Oh. Do you know where I could find someone who—"

_"Dean?"_

Dean startled at the familiar voice. "Thanks for your help," he said to the girl, and slowly turned around. Never had he in his life thought he'd be glad to see this dude. "Never thought I'd be glad to see _you_."

"You. What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Balthazar hissed, as he stalked up to Dean with amazing speed and such force that Dean thought he was going to smack him with the paper folder he was holding.

"Can you point me to Cas's office?"

Balthazar slowly crossed his arms. "You know he broke it off with Daphne about a _week_ ago, right?"

Dean blinked in confusion. "Yeah? What's that got to do with anything?"

"Unbelievable," he muttered. "Every time I think you've reached rock bottom, you manage to show me a new low, Dean. I don't know whether it's talent or if you're just naturally gifted at being offensively daft."

Before Dean could muster up a response to that, Balthazar continued. "Cassie is _heartbroken_ , you bastard. He's been down about the break-up ever since, and after not showing your face here for over ten years, you decide it's the best time to worm your way into him right after—"

Oh, right. Balthazar didn't know about Daphne and Cas. The reminder helped with Dean's mood more than it probably should've. "Dude, I'm not here to do that."

"Then what _are_ you here for?"

"I came down to visit Sam and his girlfriend, jackass. I figured I'd visit my best friend who lives two blocks away from my brother in the process, and I don't even know why I need to explain myself to you."

Balthazar narrowed his eyes and Dean stared right back. He unwillingly pointed down at the hallway to their right. "Room 128."

"Thank you," Dean said mockingly.

"Cheer him up, will you? He's been down for days."

Dean waved an affirmation and kept on walking. He passed by a long line of students sitting in the hallway and backtracked at the sight of room 132. He stared at the long line of students again, and saw the room they were queuing in front of.

"Hey, is this the line for professor Shurley?" he asked the person at the end of the line, reading something out of her binder.

She adjusted her glasses, and nodded. "Yeah."

Dean counted around fifteen students. "How long does this usually take?"

She scrunched up her face. "Depends on the person? I'd say around good five to ten minutes per. This prof usually tends to everyone after his office hours are done anyway, so you don't have to worry about that."

Of course he did. "When's his office hour supposed to end at?"

She glanced at her watch. "Well technically at two thirty, but with this many people I doubt you'll get your turn until at least three."

Dean slumped down beside her with a shrug. He waited.

By the time it was around three thirty, there were two more students behind Dean and about three in front of him. "Hey, do you know when his office hour started today?" he asked the person beside him again.

She took out the pencil she was chewing out of her mouth and glanced up in thought. "I think it started at eleven? Twelve? Something like that."

"Christ." Dean rubbed his face tiredly. It came with the job, but he was pretty sure professors didn't get paid for extra office hours outside of the required ones for the week, and he knew for a fact that Cas didn't have any other lectures to attend to on Fridays after ten thirty this semester.

"Is there a place for coffee anywhere near here?" he asked.

She pondered for a bit, a little frown settling between her brows. "There's a Starbucks just across the street when you exit this building."

"Thanks. Hey, you guys can go in front of me if you want."

The three students perked up from their notes, and the guy right behind him hesitated. "Uh, you sure dude?"

"Yeah, man. I'm here for personal reasons anyway."

By the time it was four o'clock, the line was reduced to three students and Dean himself. From what he'd observed, one person could take from five minutes up to thirty minutes. It wasn't any type of rush hour, so Starbucks shouldn't have a long queue. He hurriedly walked down the hallway and got himself two cups of black coffee and a sesame chicken wrap. He was happy to find out there was one other student beside him waiting when he came back, and waited in anticipation.

His stomach flip-flopped when the last student exited out of the room, and it was finally his turn. With his heart beating out of his chest, Dean slowly walked in and stared.

Cas was shuffling some paper and writing something down, sitting behind his desk with his laptop propped up to his side. He didn't look up at the sound of the door nor did he acknowledge Dean's presence. Dean stared, suddenly a little baffled that Cas was _there_ , just within inches of him.

Dean waited with coffee in hand, not wanting to ruin the surprise. Plus, he had the excuse of watching Cas in his environment, with his rectangular reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his hair mussed up from running his fingers through them too often, and his dorky burgundy sweater vest worn on top of a simple white dress shirt.

"Sorry about that, you can sit—" Cas looked up and froze, portraying a rabbit caught in a trap. Dean froze in response, because the moment Cas looked up was the moment it really hit him that they weren't talking through skype calls nor will this meeting be a short hour long thing. Cas couldn't disappear from him with a click of his fingers.

Dean recovered faster by flashing Cas the most cheeky grin he could muster. "Hey there, professor."

Cas blinked a few times and slowly opened his mouth. "Dean?" he croaked faintly.

"Jesus, your voice sounds terrible. Here." Dean sat down on the chair in front of Cas, and handed him his cup of coffee and the wrap. "Thought you might be hungry."

"What are you doing here?" Cas stared, his voice crackly and a little shaky, probably from talking non-stop for over four hours.

"Visiting Sam and Jess. And you." Dean sipped his coffee. "Sam wanted to do some kinda dual celebration for both Jess and me so I drove from Sioux Falls. You gonna eat that?"

Cas finally glanced at the wrap sitting in front of him and dazedly took half of it in his hand. He bit into it and moaned around the bite. "Thank you," he murmured with another bite.

"Slow down, man. Have you eaten anything at all today?"

"Balthazar forced a muffin on me this morning."

"Good for him," Dean said gruffly.

"This wrap is amazing," Cas moaned again. "Thank you."

Dean grinned in response, pure happiness sprouting from within him. He wondered how he managed to be away from Cas for such a long time.

He looked around the room while Cas was occupied with eating. The walls had motivational posters with obscure picture of mountains and penguins with words written on the bottom like 'determination' and 'strength' as well as smaller posters with different countries. A Portal game poster hung behind Cas. A pachira plant stood in the corner of the room with Christmas lights snaked around it, not to mention several bookcases in the room.

Something heavy settled in Dean's chest, so he focused his attention back to Cas. "We're going out for dinner tonight. You should come if you're not busy."

He nodded. "Of course. I'll be there."

"Awesome. Did you want a ride back to your place?"

Cas crumbled up the plastic wrap. "I need to attend to some matters before I leave for the day. I'll see you tonight, Dean."

Dean snorted at the wording. It wasn't like they were going on a date. "Yeah. Later, Cas."

But, well, he hoped to change that soon.

 

* * *

 

Sam fucking told the waiter about Dean and Jess' birthdays which involved some embarrassing singing from the staffs while Sam and Cas laughed their asses off. If looks could kill, he was pretty sure Jess and himself could've teamed up to conquer the world together. To quote Jess, "At least it comes with free dessert, or you'd be dead to me, Sam."

"Present time!" Sam said excitedly, and Dean couldn't help but notice, nervously.

Cas looked apologetic, and Dean squeezed his shoulder. "Dude, I already told you, it's fine."

"I still feel bad."

Dean clenched his fists. Spending his birthday celebration with his brother, his brother's girlfriend and his best friend was more than he could've asked for. To be so near Cas that if Dean shifted a little, their shoulders would brush; it was a bliss.

Of course, Dean said none of this aloud. "Yeah, yeah, don't sweat it, man."

Sam handed Dean his present; Lord of the Rings DVDs Collector's edition. Fucking sweet. He hugged it out with Sam. "Wait till I brag about this to Charlie."

Sam laughed. "She probably owns it already."

"Probably, but it's not going to stop me." Dean clapped his shoulder. "Thanks, Sammy."

"No problem, Dean. Happy birthday," he grinned. Sam turned to Jess and huffed out a breath. "Jess."

She raised her eyebrows and smiled in confusion. "Sam."

Sam glanced at Dean and one look at his face and _oh_. His mind flew to a conclusion in the split second, and he suddenly understood why Sam was so fidgety all night.

Sam slowly sank to his knees, and Jess put her hand over her mouth as she grasped the situation. Her eyes were already tearing up by the time Sam opened his mouth. "Ever since you rescued me from that giant dog slobbering all over me on campus, I knew you were the one for me."

"Sam, oh my god," she whispered.

He took out a ring box from his inner jacket pocket. "Jessica Moore, will you marry me?" his voice shook a little.

Jess let out a teary laugh. "Yes, of course yes, thousand times _yes_."

They kissed and hugged and both cried, and Dean might have teared up a little too. Cas was watching the newly engaged couple with a happy grin, and Dean ached to store the standing moment in a jar for his keepsake.

After they calmed down a little and with a new ring on Jess' left hand, she left to touch up on her make up from the tears. Dean leaned against the table towards a very happy Sam and said, "Please tell me you guys talked about this before you proposed to her in _public_."

Sam scrunched up his nose. "Dean, of course we did. I think she was just surprised since she didn't know when I was going to propose, least of all tonight."

"Well. Okay. Good." Dean leaned back against his chair in relief. "I don't suppose you still want me hanging around at your place with you newly engaged and all that?"

"No, it's okay Dean. Honestly."

"Dude, I am _not_ sitting around in the guest room for a week while you guys have celebratory sex."

"That's—" Sam rolled his eyes with a resigned sigh. "There's a hotel nearby if you want to—"

"You could stay with me," Cas perked.

Sam shot Dean a stupid smirk, and Dean shot back daggers with his eyes. "I, uh. You sure, Cas?"

"Of course."

"Of course," Dean echoed, his own voice sounding far off. He stared at Cas, who stared back, and thought of him in his casual clothes with his t-shirt riding up against his hipbones and in sweatpants. "I mean, I could always go to that hotel Sam just mentioned, I wouldn't want to intrude or—"

"Dean."

Dean raised his hands helplessly. "Okay, yep. Got it."

Cas hummed in approval and snagged a piece of Dean's birthday cake.

 

* * *

 

After parking the Impala in the driveway, Dean found himself in Cas's foyer with his duffle bag in hand. Cas led him upstairs and showed him the guest room on the second floor, which consisted of a bed and a simple writing desk.

Dean felt exhausted. It was an eventful day, and this wasn't even mentioning all the nerves he worked up to visit Cas prior in the afternoon. At least with Sam and Jess, he didn't have to worry as much about definite endings anymore ( _hopefully_ ). So it really wasn't his fault that when he slumped onto the bed, with jeans on and everything, he fell asleep right away. Passed out, would be a better description.

By the time he woke up feeling more refreshed and well rested than he had in ages, it was past midnight. He yawned and stretched in his bed, and found himself snuggling against a cozy blanket tucked on top of him. He stared at the mysterious blanket that appeared out of nowhere, and when he realized it was probably Cas, he couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude and fondness.

He quietly opened the door and glanced around at the hallway. It was unbelievably dark, and only the silence of the house met him. He was tiptoeing back from the washroom when his stomach decided to let out an embarrassingly loud growl.

Maybe he could go grab a snack from somewhere around here. Dean wandered downstairs towards the front door when he saw a faint light from the living room. Hesitantly, he stepped in to find Cas curled up in his couch with his reading glasses on.

Cas looked up from his papers at the sound of Dean's feet, and startled. "You're awake."

"You are, too. I thought you were sleeping."

Cas shrugged. "I figured I'd get my work done and over with so we could spend a little more time together while you’re still here."

"Oh," Dean let out softly with a gulp. He was too happy here and it scared him how happy he felt at these gestures from Cas. "Thanks for the, uh, you know. The blanket."

Cas quirked a slight smile. "You looked cold and lonely."

"Shut up, I wasn't _lonely_. Scootch over."

They sat, their adjacent legs so close to each other that Dean could feel the heat emanating from Cas. It briefly brought him back to when they were sixteen again, sitting on Cas's bed with their knees almost knocking at each other. Dean surveyed the living room quickly, and saw the little house plants perched on the side table. A coffee table sat in front of the cream leather couch on top of the ugly-ass carpet spread on the floor. Paintings of trees and mountains hung on the opposite wall from the couch, and an ebony piano stood underneath them. They were enveloped by a warm, low lighting of the touch-sensitive lamp by the side of the couch behind the side table.

Dean smiled at the calm melancholy which submerged him as he took in the scene before him. Cas had finally carved his own little spot into the world. First his office, and now inside his house, Dean clearly understood that Cas had a _home_ here. This was everything Dean had wanted for him ever since that warm afternoon back in their youths.

It was also painfully obvious that Dean had no place here. There was no trace of him anywhere to be found, which was to be expected really, but it still seemed like a looming foreshadowing meant for him. When Dean leaves California, it'll be as if he'd never been here at all.

Dean swallowed down the thoughts and locked them away. "You've got a nice place, Cas," he motioned at the area.

Cas blinked as if seeing it for the first time, and wore a proud smile. "Thank you."

"Gotta say, the carpet looks terrible."

The smile turned into a scowl. "I _like_ it. I was wondering why you were being so nice."

"Hey! I'm the nicest guy you'll ever meet. And anyway, I'm starving so I was planning on grabbing something to eat. Did you want something while I was out?"

Cas frowned. "I have food here, you know."

"I—" Dean bit down his words, that he didn't want to be a bother because he was already crashing at his place and didn't want to leech off of Cas.

Cas took one look at Dean's face, and understood. "Dean, I thought we established that we don't need to play hosts to each other. I want you to feel welcome here, and that means you can grab whatever you want out of the fridge anytime you want."

"I feel rude," Dean confessed.

"Since when do you care about manners when it comes to food?"

Dean huffed dramatically. "Excuse _you_. Just for that I'm going to eat your house out."

Cas smiled in response. "By all means."

Cas pulled his glasses off and set them on the side table. He rose from the couch and walked towards the kitchen, and Dean blindly followed, feeling like a puppy. Cas grabbed a box of donuts out of the fridge, and Dean groaned in happiness. "A man after my heart is who you are."

Cas snorted, and settled the box on the marble counter. He settled against the counter, took out a powdered donut, and pushed the box towards Dean.

"Sweet merciful god." Dean took one bite of the sour cream glazed donut and his eyes almost rolled into his head. "God, donuts are the best."

Cas muffled out an affirmation, and titled his head slightly in confusion when Dean burst out laughing at the sight of his face.

"Dude, you've got—" Dean gestured at his own mouth with a grin. Seeing the gesture, Cas reached for the impressive powder sugar mustache he was sporting and barely took any of it off his face. "No, right—"

Dean wiped his hand on the front of his shirt and reached out. Cas froze in place, wide-eyed as Dean carefully brushed his thumb across Cas's lips, taking the powder sugar mustache with him.

Heat rose to Dean's face, and he lowered his gaze to his hand as he rubbed his fingers absently.

"Thank you," Cas mumbled.

Dean shrugged. The moment passed as subtlety as it came, and the quiet, comforting atmosphere between them eventually returned. Dean geared himself up to pop the question he'd wanted to ask since he saw Cas's face. He inhaled big and slow, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thumping against his chest.

"Cas."

"Yes?"

It felt like there was a hummingbird inside his chest. "Are you busy on the 14th?"

"You mean, do I have a date for Valentine's day?"

"Uh." That wasn't exactly what Dean was asking, and the thought honestly didn't even cross his mind after his initial relief over Daphne. "Yes? No? Are you doing anything?"

Cas was staring now. He was definitely staring. "No, not really. Why do you ask?"

"Well." Dean gulped. "I was wondering... There's a movie coming out that I want to go watch."

"Oh."

"D'you wanna go together?"

His words hung in the air, blurted out too fast as if that would change Cas's decision. Dean felt light-headed. His stomach clenched tight and fluttered at the same time.

Cas shrugged. "Of course, Dean. We haven't been to the movies together in a long time."

Dean's brain short-circuited. He wasn't sure what he was expecting with his vague word choices, but he'd hoped maybe Cas would pick up on Dean asking him out for a date. He _was_ asking Cas to accompany him for Valentine's day, so anybody else would've assumed it was a date, right?

Except this wasn't anybody else. This was Cas. Of course he thought they were going as friends, not as a date. They've done weirder couple-y things without the actual intention behind it before, so it was obvious Cas wouldn't have thought this to be a date.

Dean weighed his options. He watched Cas take another bite out of the donut and thought of Daphne. Of possible future Daphnes. All of them possibly not being _him_.

"Cas," Dean called out with a shaky voice. Cas raised his eyebrows at him to show he had his attention. He licked his lips. No turning back, Winchester. "I'm. Asking you out here."

Cas stopped chewing. He slowly turned his head and met Dean's eyes, his own blue eyes searching for a joke, or maybe insincerity. Dean wanted to look away from those eyes with embarrassment, swallow his words down at the lack of response and run all the way back to Sioux Falls and hide in his room for all eternity—

"You're serious," Cas finally rasped out.

He could deny it. He could deny this and turn back, have everything return to normal. Dean and Cas, the golden duo, the two best friends. He could stay away from being greedy, wanting more than what he already had.

"Yeah."

"You want to go on a date. With me. With romantic intents behind."

"If you don't want to—" Dean's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "If you want to say no, it's okay, man. I mean, I know this is too sudden, and I don't want this to make things awkward between us or anything—"

"What? No, I—" Cas sharply breathed in and gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I want to."

The whole world was put into a daze, and Dean stared at Cas. "What?"

"I want to," Cas reaffirmed, looking at him in the eyes. Dean wondered if his face was as red as Cas’s right now. "Let's make it a dinner-movie date. I know a nice Italian restaurant not too far from the theater. I'll make a reservation."

"It might be fully booked already since it's on Valentine's day," he heard someone say with his voice.

"I'll find another restaurant if that seems to be the case. Is that okay with you?" Cas asked hurriedly, and Dean absently nodded. Dean was the one who asked him on this thing, so why was Cas planning this thing out anyway? "Where would you like to eat?"

"What? Uh," Dean almost bit his tongue trying to respond quickly. "I don't care. Anywhere's fine with me."

"Okay. I'll let you know once I find one that seems plausible." Cas paused, and they stared at each other. Dean felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. "What movie are we watching, anyway?"

Dean almost forgot that was the reason why they were doing this in the first place. He had an entirely different reason to be nervous. "One of Hector Afranian’s books was turned into a movie."

Cas’s eyes widened in surprise. "That is a big deal," he said carefully.

"Yeah." Dean licked his lips. "I figured, you’ve read the books so we could go together. Well, obviously going on this date is also a big deal but—"

Cas's lips quirked slightly. "Okay. It's a date, then."

"Right," Dean said faintly. "I'm gonna—go upstairs now."

"I'm going to finish up on my work." Cas's smile widened. "Good night, Dean."

"Yep." Dean stumbled on his feet, accidentally hip-checking the counter on the way out of the kitchen. He grimaced in pain and embarrassment. "Night."

After tripping upstairs and closing the door behind him, Dean slunk onto the bed, his knees almost giving out under him. He clutched the bed and listened to his heartbeat in his eardrums.

That just happened.

He asked Cas out on a date.

And he said _yes_.

"Holy shit," he whispered. "Holy _fuck."_  

He let out a tiny chuckle which escalated into a quiet, hysterical laugh muffled by the pillow. He gripped the pillow tight against his face and grinned, soaring too high already.

 

* * *

 

"Sam, I can't do this."

"You'll be fine."

"No, you don't understand. I _can't do this_."

"It's okay. Think of it as... character development."

"I don't _want_ to go through character development," Dean whined. "My character development is happening too fast. I'm gonna get a fucking whiplash."

"It's been over fifteen  _years_. I don't think _anyone_ calls that a rushed character development. It's only logical."

"You know what you can do with your logic, Sam? You can—"

"Dean?"

Dean turned around to see Cas walking down the stairs in a simple black button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow and dark jeans. His hair was completely out of control as usual, but the effort to calm it down was evident.

Dean gaped a little, his heart leaping up to his throat. Damn it, he was so fucking attractive and he was dressed that way because of their _date_. It seemed like a casual outfit enough, but they looked so god damn gorgeous on him, Dean didn't know what to do. He shook himself from staring at Cas in awe and settled with a smile. "Hey."

“Have fun, you two,” he heard Sam’s voice say from the phone. “Don’t forget protections.”

Cas definitely heard Sam and turned completely red, as did Dean. Dean hung up on Sam without another word.

Cas coughed. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, yep." Dean fumbled with his phone and shoved it into his pocket, vowing to somehow make Sam suffer the next time he saw him. "You clean up nice, by the way."

"Oh," Cas looked down at himself. "Thank you," he said, and did an appreciative scan of Dean. Dean grinned at the red tinges on Cas's cheeks, knowing exactly how the red and white plaid over his grey henley looked on him. "You, ah, clean up nicely, too."

"Damn right, I do." Without further ado, Dean presented his forearm for Cas to grab onto. "Shall we?"

Cas snorted, but he hooked his arm onto Dean's, and they walked out to Baby together, arm in arm.

Good. This was great. They've been somewhat avoiding each other since that night, shuffling away from each other like some sort of pre-dating rituals—unless it was during dinner while they made awkward little conversations—so Dean was glad for this little interaction before they kick-started the night. It was still nerve-wrecking, and Dean didn't know if he was glad for this weird change that seemed to have settled between them now. This was exactly what he was afraid of, what with things getting too awkward for them to look at each other in the face.

Maybe, hopefully, after tonight, it'll be a different kind of change.

They did end up going to the nice little Italian place Cas was talking about, and Dean couldn't help but notice all the other couples in the restaurant. It _was_ Valentine's day so that should've been expected, but it was _weird_ how Dean and Cas were part of _that_ right now. After they arrived at their seats, Dean fumbled with his menu, and almost knocked over his glass of water with his jitteriness. 

" _Shit_ —" Dean stood up and dabbed the water off the table. It'd been maybe half an hour into the date and he was already screwing up. Heat flared up on his cheeks with embarrassment.

A tentative touch against his hand that was dabbing the water off had him look up. Cas offered a kind smile.

"Don't be nervous, Dean," Cas said, drawing his hand away, and how Dean wished the hand would stay. "You're not expected to act any differently from how you usually do. A date is an occasion where one gets to know each other. We've known each other for too long for this to be a successful 'date', if going by the definition of date. So—"

Dean stared as Cas babbled on with a slight flush across his face. "You're nervous."

Cas stopped himself in mid-sentence and frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're nervous because of... me?"

Cas lowered his gaze and fiddled with the corner of his napkin. Dean's heart skipped a beat at the sight. Holy shit,  _Dean's_ presence did that. "It's just... This is a bit of new territory for us."

"It is," Dean replied cautiously.

At his tone, Cas's eyes locked back onto Dean. "New, but not unwanted."

Dean hesitated. "And this is okay so far? With you, I mean."

Cas stilled his hand from fiddling, and smiled gently at Dean. "Yes, Dean. This is fine with me."

Dean let out a breath he was holding, and sharply nodded. "Okay," he smiled, a little nervous but hopefully not insincere.

Cas's smile widened in response. "Okay."

Dean found himself relax a little more as the night went on. It was easier to enjoy himself more, the night slowly shifting back into how he usually was around Cas. Dean thought that maybe Cas was relaxing too, and for the first time within the last week, Dean felt at home again. 

It was almost too easy to mistake the night as their usual hang-out, if it wasn't for the conversation earlier and Dean accidentally knocking on Cas's legs at one point during dinner, causing Cas to almost choke on his bite of chicken penne with surprise. He looked up to see a flush across Cas's face and marvelled (and maybe a little too happy) at how such a simple gesture from _him_ could fluster him like that. Feeling mischievous, he hooked his foot onto one of Cas's foot. Cas tensed at the sudden gesture, and Dean worried for a split second maybe that he'd pushed this a little too far when Cas closed his other foot around Dean's foot to keep it in place.

Dean grinned into his bite of spaghetti. He couldn't believe they were playing _footsies_ under the table like they were in middle school or something, yet he couldn't bear to pull his foot away. They knocked at each other's feet almost shyly until the bills came.

The movie didn't start for another hour, but they headed to the theatre to get in line for the best seats. Most of those in the line were teenage girls and women along with some unwilling participants dragged by their S.O..

Dean’s heart almost burst at the sight of the queue taking place. He started at the touch on his shoulder, and turned to see Cas watching him intently. 

"This is a big line," Cas said quietly. 

Dean snort-laughed. "Yeah, what a pain in the ass."

Cas's mouth quirked a little. "But this must mean a huge success for Hector Afranian."

"Well, it's opening night. Who knows how successful this movie is actually going to be."

"Regardless," Cas turned to the lineup, and looked back at Dean fondly, "I'm proud of him. Truly."

Warmth flooded through his body, and Dean ducked his head with a smile. "Yeah," he muttered with a quick nod. "Yeah, I think—I'm proud of him, too."

Cas's warm smile widened into a grin, and Dean grinned back despite himself. “Hey, you stay in line. I’ll go get us some popcorn and drinks,” Dean offered with a smile. Cas nodded in response, and Dean left hurriedly.

He’d forgotten. Of course, when he asked Cas to go to the movies, he’d imagined themselves sitting in the theatre with a bunch of other people. He’d forgotten those bunch of people were here to watch a movie based on _his_ book.

There was a _line_ to watch _his_ story.

The doors opened and they took their seats. Dean gripped onto the arm rest and turned to Cas, who was nonchalantly flipping through a movie magazine.

Dean breathed out, and ignored his heartbeat steadily picking up. Whether it was from having to sit through a movie based on his work or the conversation he was about to have, he didn't care to figure it out. "I have to talk to you, Cas."

Cas looked up from the magazine at Dean's tone and stilled his hands. He met Dean's eyes. "About what?"

"It's..." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "I've been keeping something from you for a while."

“Oh?”

"Yeah." Dean heart skipped a beat as blood pulsed louder in his ears. "Later. I'll explain everything after the movie."

Cas regarded him a little, and Dean resisted the impulse to bolt out of his seat.

Cas nodded. “Okay.”

Dean was almost taken back at the quick response. It amazed him at how things were always so _easy_ with Cas. Granted, he made life harder when he wanted to, but never about things that actually mattered. He always accepted Dean’s words without further questions, never probed for more information.

“How could you— Why do you never ask questions, Cas?” Dean watched his hand turn white as he gripped the arm rest tighter. “Aren’t you at least a _little_ worried that I’ve done something really, _really_ stupid?”

Cas hummed. “Did you?”

“I— don’t know. I think so. I don’t know,” he repeated, biting down on his bottom lip. He inhaled shakily. “I don’t know how you’re going to take it, man.”

Cas said nothing in response, and Dean couldn’t look up to meet his eyes. He was focused on the way his knuckles shifted as he clenched onto the arm rest when a warm hand startled him as the hand wrapped around on top of Dean’s.

“Listen to me, Dean.”

Dean hesitantly shifted his gaze upwards, locking onto Cas’s steady eyes when his eyes found them.

“No matter what you did," Cas ground out, "you can’t get rid of me that easily."

A laugh ripped out of his chest. “You might want to save that for after I tell you, Cas.”

Cas shook his head. “Things may change between us, maybe they won’t,” he said. “But we’ll work it out eventually. Together.”

Dean’s breath got caught in his throat at the absolute conviction behind Cas’s voice. He felt so bare-skinned and vulnerable, it was on the verge of pathetic. “Really?” he winced at the way his voice cracked.

“Dean,” Cas chastised with determination. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The lights in the theatre dimmed, and Cas offered a small smile. “We’ll talk more after, right?”

“Yeah.”

It should’ve been something obvious. Dean knew that Cas wasn’t someone who took relationships with his friends lightly, and he'd proven that with Dean over the years. It was how they ended up here, after all.

Yet.

Being reassured like that, having it confirmed out loud along with Cas looking straight at him brought Dean enough relief to bring tears to his eyes. He was just glad the whole theatre was dark now so that nobody would be able to tell he was tearing up over a... what even was that, a reaffirmation of their friendship? Whatever it was, he quickly wiped off his tears, and stared at the screen while the previews played.

The audience laughed at all the right times during the showing, and held their breaths during the climax. Cas's hand remained on top of Dean's hand, firmly in place as if to reinforce his statement from earlier. Dean zeroed in on the warmth Cas provided him.

He side-eyed Cas during some of the scenes, gauging his reactions sometimes. Cas mostly watched with undivided attention, sometimes noticing Dean’s gaze and giving a slight head-tilt to acknowledge him.

Dean braced himself for what was about to come as the final kiss scene rolled in. After the characters on screen kissed and the screen faded to black, Dean didn’t look at the screen, but instead at Cas. His heart was beating unbelievably loud, and he wondered how anybody else in the theatre couldn’t hear it.

He knew the words by heart already, and he didn't have to look at the screen to know what Cas was reading. They were the words Dean silently chanted when he wrote, when he talked to Cas, when he was reminded how much in love he was with him.

 

_To Cas,_

_I created universes to be with you without boundaries._

_D. W. (H.A.)_

 

Cas stiffened in surprise, his eyes widened with shock. Dean’s blood ran cold.

Some of the audiences cooed at the screen. The lights slowly brightened in the room again, and the crowd shuffled out of their seats as the credits starting rolling until only Dean and Cas remained in their seats, both frozen completely.

Neither of them spoke. After seeing the initial shock on Cas’s face, Dean couldn’t look at anywhere but at the floor, wishing it would swallow him up. Cas’s hand was still on top of his own, and he wondered if he was in too much of a shock to remove it. Dean gently tugged at his own hand to pull away.

Cas’s grip only tightened.

Dean stilled his motions at the grip, and looked up to find Cas’s eyes on him. He didn’t look disgusted or creeped out or anything Dean was expecting. He looked at Dean with a little frown sitting between his eyebrows, really _looked_ , searching for a clarification. But it wasn't a look of remorse.

Dean's chest swelled with hope.

They stayed that way, completely still and unable to look away from each other. Only when a guy in a blue uniform with a broom cleared his throat did they both tear their gazes away.

“Sorry, but we gotta clean up for the next showing, so…”

Dean’s face flared up. “Right.”

They exchanged no words as they made their way to Baby. With each passing minute in silence, Dean grew more and more wary, the little hope he had diminishing with each step as his doubts became louder. He shook them away. There was no point jumping to conclusions when he'd come this far.

Dean was immediately relieved to feel the cool familiar surface of Baby underneath his palms, relishing in the comfort. He leaned against her frame and exhaled when he felt Cas's gaze on him. He looked up to find that yes, Cas was indeed looking at him over Baby. Neither of them made an attempt to get into the car.

“Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean replied weakly.

Cas hesitated. “You said we’d talk after the movie.”

“I did.”

“So,” Cas gestured at both of them. "Let's talk."

Dean opened his mouth, only to find that he had no words _to_ say. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about this exact situation before. He’d wondered, and played out how the situation would go in his head all the time. What Cas would say to him, what Dean would say back.

None of them seemed to matter anymore, because Cas wasn’t angry or lashing out at Dean like he expected him to be. He didn’t know his next line in the script because none of this was playing out like how he'd written it.

Dean clenched his fists. Might as well get straight to the point. “I’m Hector Afranian.”

Cas said nothing in return.

“I wrote those books, Cas,” Dean swallowed, his throat clicking together.

Cas nodded once. “I know,” he replied quietly.

Maybe it was the tone of his voice, the way it barely hushed over the sound of abandoned pieces of popcorn riddled along the street rolling in the wind. Maybe Dean was finally cluing in _why_ Cas seemed so god damn calm about this whole ordeal.

"You mean, you know because I just... told you, right? Back at the theater?"

Cas shook his head slightly.

The pale moon showed itself from behind the clouds. The orange streetlights reflected against Cas’s profile, defining the dips and the protruded parts of his face. Dean let go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“You _knew_?” Dean echoed, barely a whisper against the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. “How did you—Was it Gabriel?”

At that, Cas finally showed some type of anger since the beginning of the conversation, glaring at Dean from beyond Baby. “No, it wasn’t from _Gabriel_. If anything, he found out _because_ of me.”

“Then how—” Dean stammered, at a loss. “You said yourself that you couldn’t find anything about me!”

Cas let out a sharp exhale. “I’ve been a history major half my life, Dean. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s research.”

Dean recalled back to the day Gabriel came to confront him in the garage. That was at least three weeks ago. “How long have you known?” he muttered.

“For a while,” Cas admitted.

“How long is 'for a while'?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“ _Cas_.”

Cas looked up in exasperation, then back down to Dean. “I started having suspicions after I finished reading the first book. Back in Sioux Falls, when I visited you.”

Dean scrubbed his face with distress. This couldn’t be happening.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “You _knew_ , and you didn’t say anything,” he stated, his voice shaking as it steadily rose. “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything to me?”

“I wanted to give you the chance to tell me yourself.”

Dean let out a bitter laugh. "So you just decided to play along for the night?"

Cas glared, suddenly so much closer to Dean than before. "I wanted you to tell me without me _prompting_ you," he gritted out in a low voice, "so I'd be sure that you _meant_ the sentiment behind the books."

The words almost hit like a physical blow, and all of Dean's anger flushed out of his system. He had to remember to breathe. "Why would that—Why do you care if I meant it?"

Cas's eyes softened. "Because I need to know if we're on the same page, Dean." His tensed up body loosened with an exhale. " _Did_ you mean it? The words on the screen."

He wasn't sure who reached out first, but their hands brushed against each other. "Yeah," he murmured. 

Cas gave a slight nod. "I—I feel the same. About you."

Dean's heart almost gave out at the words. Dean squeezed their hands tighter. This was too good to be true. Good things didn't just  _happen_ to him. "Cas, if this is some sort of pity thing—"

"Stop overcomplicating things," Cas replied. "I'm here to stay."

If anything good ever happened to Dean, it was Cas.

"Do you mean that?" Dean asked softly, almost too afraid of the answer.

Dean could feel the warmth radiating from Cas, and they were so close that he could see the thinness of Cas's eyelashes as they dipped down and up along with the movement of his blue eyes. He reached out and caressed Dean's face, and Dean leaned into the touch with his heart bursting out of his chest.

"Dean Winchester," Cas said with absolute conviction, and his stomach flipped at the way his name sounded wrapped in Cas's voice. His lips brushed against Dean's as he spoke. "I would never leave you."

Cas's lips were as soft and warm and somewhat as chapped as they looked, and the hand that was on his face slid to the back of his neck for Cas to get a better grip as they kissed. So this was what Cas tasted like, felt like in his arms; every sense Dean had at the moment were overwhelmed and surrounded with nothing but Cas. Dean's arms slunk around Cas's whole body, his hands resting at the dip of his back. They were chaste kisses, still a little cautious and exploring each other. Dean ran his hands up and down Cas's waist, and Cas sighed in contentment.

Dean gently nipped at Cas's bottom lip and initiated a deeper kiss. It was a slow, warm kiss and only when they pulled apart did Dean really believe Cas was standing in front of him with a slight flush across his face, his lips now a little swollen and red after their kiss.

Dean huffed a laugh at the sight, rising to the heavens and back. He knocked his forehead gently onto Cas's, completely elated. "I cannot fucking believe this is happening."

Cas laid another kiss. "I've been wanting to do that for a long time," he sighed against his lips, loud enough for only Dean to hear.

Cas was grinning, and Dean's own face felt like it was about to fall off from how much _he_ was grinning. He felt like his chest was going to burst from expanding so much with the overflowing happiness. "Me too."

They shared another kiss, illuminated by the orange street light.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean took his time to take his coat off once they were back at Cas’s place from the theater, painstakingly aware of Cas’s presence behind him. He stood around and shuffled on his feet while he waited for Cas to be done with his coat, because he’d really like to kiss him again.

Cas smiled when he caught Dean’s eyes on him, and neatly hung the coat on the hook. Dean experimentally tugged on Cas's shirt, and he followed easily, leading to a light kiss again and again, each time no less exciting than the last.

Cas deepened their kiss, his hands climbing into Dean’s shirt and his body pressed up against the wall, his palms ghosting over Dean’s torso. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas to bury himself in the comfort of his warmth, wishing this could last forever.

Cas let out a little sigh when they pulled away for breath. “Come upstairs?”

And there was the question that dragged Dean back down to the ground.

Seeing Dean’s obvious hesitation, Cas pulled away a little with hesitation. “Could it be that I’ve misread the situation?”

“What? Nono,” Dean wanted to pull Cas back and hog all that warmth for himself, but he resisted. “It’s just… Um.”

Maybe it was because he was just _so_ _fucking tired_ after spending the entire evening in anticipation of how everything was going to go down tonight. He was half expecting to have been kicked out with a broken heart despite how well the dinner went, and once the relief had settled in, his entire body had decided to collapse in on itself like he’d just finished a marathon he’d been preparing for the past ten years or so.

Cas was looking at him now, and Dean flushed under his gaze. “I.”

“You.”                                          

God, how did he even go about this? “It’s not you,” Dean started, and almost physically grimaced at how bad that sounded (not to mention how fucking clichéd, holy fuck). “I think I’m just really tired after all the stuff that happened today, and I know this all sounds like an excuse but I swear to fucking god, any other time I would’ve been so down with it and—I’m just _really tired_ —”

“Dean,” Cas stopped him gently, and Dean shut up before he embarrassed himself any further. “You’re saying that you don’t wish to have sex tonight.”

Dean felt his entire face flare up. God, Cas and _sex_. He was allowed to think of Cas in that sort of context now, and everything about that—including Cas saying those words alone—was so damn surreal. He played with Cas’s fingers, unable to look back up. There was also shame in there somewhere, burning hot in his stomach. “Yeah.”

Cas knotted his fingers over Dean’s hands. “You don’t need to feel so self-conscious about saying no, Dean.”

“Oh.” Dean took a shallow breath. “I just. Want to make you happy.”

He couldn’t see Cas’s face since he was too busy staring at their joined hands, but he could hear Cas’s smile in his voice. “Thank you,” Cas hushed out. “Just last week, I had… no idea we’d end up here. This, being with you right now, makes me happy.” Cas squeezed his hands. “You alone are enough.”

Count on Cas to make denying him sex into something that sounded so reverent. Dean wordlessly pulled Cas into a hug and Cas _oof_ ed, caught by surprise. Cas’s arms briefly squeezed him tight before settling comfortably around Dean.

“Upstairs, then? To sleep, I mean,” Cas’s breath brushed against Dean’s ear, “if you’d like to, that is. You can sleep in the guest room again if you’d prefer that—”

Dean huffed. He laid a quick kiss on the back of Cas’s neck and pulled away. “Nah, let’s go. I’m tired as fuck.”

They trudged upstairs and tumbled into Cas’s bed together, wearing t-shirts and boxers. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas, and he felt Cas’s arms snake around him in turn as he buried his face into Dean’s chest. Dean idly kissed the top of Cas’s hair, the smell of his shampoo wafting in his nose.

“You smell nice,” Dean murmured, and Cas hummed in response.

They shuffled around for a bit before they both found a comfortable enough position for their arms to not fall asleep in. He felt Cas’s nose dig into his chest and smiled.

“Good night, Dean,” came Cas’s muffled voice.

“Night.”

Dean huddled into the warmth a little more, and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Dean woke slowly, first registering the arm slung on top of him, then a body the arm belonged to, which clung to his back. He felt groggy and sore in a way one felt when they slept in someone else’s bed for the first time. Jesus, he sorely missed his own mattress (seriously, he needed to tell Cas to love himself more and get himself a better mattress than this rock they were sleeping on). Still, despite the dull ache in his back, he was warm and… content.

Cas’s finger twitched at the sound of Dean’s sigh. He inched closer to Dean’s back, and Dean huffed at all the squirming going on. That tickled. He turned himself around and got an eyeful of messily tossed dark hair.

“G’morning,” whispered Dean.

Cas replied with a groan, and fell back asleep with his face buried into Dean’s chest, his breath soon deep and steady again. Dean tucked Cas’s head underneath his chin for a bit more shut-eye. What the hell. The universe could wait.

It must’ve been few hours before Dean blinked awake to find Cas prompted up on his elbow watching him. Dean blinked up at him dazedly, rubbing his eyes. “You get your freak on watching people like that?”

“Your eyelids were twitching,” was Cas’s reply. “And you have very long eyelashes. You’re fascinating to watch.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Dean yawned. He stretched his entire body, curving towards Cas and feeling it to the tips of his toes and his fingers.

He froze when he felt his morning wood bump against Cas’s hips. Cas glanced down at the probing and looked back up. “Would you like me to take care of that?”

“Uh,” Dean stuttered, the moment of tranquility on the verge of breaking. Last night was _last night_ , but he honestly had no excuse right now other than that no, for some reason, he didn’t want _that_ taken care of by Cas.

“Dean?” Cas broke into Dean’s jumbled thoughts.

Dean gingerly sat up. He took in a deep breath, taking a moment to feel his lungs expand in his chest. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

Cas sat up a little, and patiently waited as Dean screwed up his face in order to find the right words.

“You. Me. Us being a—a _thing_.” Dean paused. “We… _are_ a thing, right?”

“I would like us to be,” Cas said carefully, “if you’re okay with it.”

Dean nodded. “I think I… It’s hard trying to convince myself that this is all happening. My book going on the big screen,” he gestured at both of them, “ _this_ being real. I guess I’m just…”

“You’re overwhelmed,” Cas finished, a gentle realization bleeding through his voice.

“Yes? No? I don’t know.” Dean threw his hands up. “Sex is definitely in the future, but… not now. I just need a little time, I guess. To get used to all this _._ ”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas smiled softly. “I’ll be here.”

Dean flushed, and brushed his hand against Cas’s. “Yeah, I know.”

“And perhaps I _was_ … a bit eager in rushing things.”

Dean grinned widely, the tight coil in his stomach loosening along with it. “Yeah, man. Can’t believe you thought you’d be getting all of _this_ after taking me on one cheesy date.”

Cas quirked an eyebrow. “You say this to _me_ after what _you_ pulled last night.”

Dean blinked, at first thinking Cas was talking about Dean saying no to sex, then realized he was probably talking about Dean’s message for Cas put in as part of the end credit scene of his book-turned-into-movie. Fuck, what the fuck was he thinking pulling the _corniest_ fucking shit. He wrote romcoms for living, not live inside of a romcom for fuck’s sake.

It’s what he deserved for blurring the line between his personal life and work life so much, he supposed. Still, Dean unnecessarily shoved at Cas in retribution for reminding him about it. “Alright, don’t rub it in you smartass.”

Cas grinned in response. “Can I kiss you?”

“’Course you can,” he laughed, wrapping his hand behind Cas’s neck and tugged gently. Cas came forward without much effort, and they kissed, slow and sweet.

They stayed like that for maybe half an hour, indulging in each other’s presence until they both admitted that food and a shower should do both of them some good. Dean explored the nooks and crannies of Cas’s place while Cas took his shower, and found himself in a room all too familiar to him, usually seen through Cas’s laptop webcam. He looked around Cas’s office, feeling somewhat surreal that he was inside the room he’d seen so many times before. He took his time walking into it, and stilled in front of Cas’s desk.

A photo frame stood beside Cas’s lamp: the same photo that John had once ripped to pieces in front of Dean’s eyes years ago. He didn’t even know Cas had a copy of it.

He picked it up gently and stared at his younger self captured in the moment, looking genuinely happy with Cas slung around his arm.  He wondered what this version of himself would say to him if he could see him now—a successful writer with a movie, and with Cas. He doubted he’d even believe him. He should ask for a copy of the photo later.

His eyes rummaged through the bookcase sitting beside the desk, and snorted in surprise at the neatly aligned collection of Hector Afranian’s books staring back at him. It was odd to think the same words sitting inside of Dean’s laptop were sitting inside Cas’s bookshelf, but… there they were.

He pulled out the book Cas first read in Sioux Falls, one of his earlier works. His writing had improved a lot since then, and he was just… glad that…

What the hell?

Dean stared at the glaring red scribbles written between words, all in Cas’s messy ass handwriting. He only meant to shuffle the pages and put it back, but he couldn’t stop staring at the words that he never wrote into his story.

There were notes. There were notes all over the pages in red and blue and black pens and sometimes pencils, picking out the tiniest details Dean thought would go unnoticed. Dean pulled out another book

 _I_ hate _parsley and I hate_ you _for including this because surely you must know the reason why I hate parsley is_ because _of you_

and another book

_Chapter based on Star Trek marathon night in fourth year after finals? The aftermath was certainly terrible, but it was still one of the best nights of my life_

and another

_what if I’m deluding myself because **I need this to be true**?_

and every time he expected the notes to end on the next page—

_what if I’m wasting my time?_

because there was no _way_ that Cas could’ve gone through _every single book_ —

_this is a fictional work. I’m being ridiculous_

just to find and add all the unspoken words Dean had hidden away for all these years—

_am I Lydia?_

“Dean?”

He couldn’t turn around. He belatedly realized how much of a mess he made, all of his books pulled out of the shelf and scattered all over Cas’s desk for naked eyes to see.

Dean felt a tentative touch on his shoulder, painfully gentle. He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

Cas stood beside him now, his hand still on his shoulder. “You saw my notes,” Cas said quietly.

“Yeah.” Only then did Dean realize that the notes might’ve been private. “Shit, man, sorry—”

“It’s alright.” 

“Right,” Dean stared at the mess he’d made. “When you said research, I didn’t think…”

“Oh.” Cas cleared his throat, as if he was embarrassed. “I admit, I had my doubts at the beginning. I wondered if it was even worth digging into.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Gabriel thought it was a good idea. He encouraged it.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “Are you telling me he only came to Bobby’s garage to _scout_ me out for you?”

“What?” Cas startled.

“I fucking knew I’ve never seen that Beetle with him before,” Dean muttered. He huffed at the sight of Cas, who still looked shell-shocked at this apparently new info. “I’m assuming you didn’t know.”

“No,” Cas replied darkly. “As a matter of fact, I told him to _not_ bother you about it.”

“Kinda too late for that.”

“I _am_ sorry about Gabriel—”

“Wasn’t your fault, Cas. Don’t sweat it,” Dean said. “‘Sides, Gabe _is_ a douchebag, but… I think he did help. Gave me a shove on the back, that sort of thing.”

“Ah.” Cas seemed to think about this. “So I should be… thankful towards him?”

“Fuck no,” Dean replied.

Cas smiled, barely a twitch of his lips. “Good.”

Cas gently placed his hand behind Dean’s back, and Dean leaned back against the warmth with closed eyes. Dean turned, and wrapped his arms around Cas with his face buried into Cas’s shoulder. Cas rubbed circles into his back, and Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat.

“Can I read the rest of your notes? Maybe take them back home?” he muffled against Cas’s shoulder.

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean faintly laughed. “I’ll give you my copies so you don’t have to buy them again or anything, if you want.”

Cas hummed in response and placed a quick kiss, and led Dean out of the room.

Breakfast seemed to be Cas’s forte when it came to cooking. To Dean’s relief, it was surprisingly easy to settle back into how he was used to acting around Cas. Things were more or less the same between them for two people who’d seemingly established a whole new level onto their relationship.

Yet. Some things, little things, were different. Dean found himself brushing his hand against Cas’s any time he saw the chance—a little nudge here while reaching for the salt, a little squeeze there while walking to the fridge, playful little shoves here and there. And he was allowed them.

God, it was weird. It was _exhilarating_.

After breakfast, they moved things to the living room. Dean worked on his recent novel on the couch, and Cas graded his students’ final essays on the coffee table. The radio from Dean’s laptop, Dean’s (unfortunately) infrequent typing and Cas’s occasional hums of approval or disapproval filled the silence between them.

Dean glanced up from his laptop after what felt like years shaved off his life, and watched Cas with his little frown sitting on top of his forehead. He exited out of the radio station website and gently closed his laptop (last time Dean paid attention to it, there was something about some sort of prison riot, surfing squirrels and how badly the economy was failing; good ol’ American news). He reached over and carded his fingers through Cas’s hair, softer to the touch than he thought it’d be. Cas stilled his ruthless red penning and leaned against Dean, the frown disappearing and his eyes fluttering close with a sigh.

“Hey.”

“Hello,” Cas said with a smile, turning around to rest his chin against Dean’s thigh.

Dean smiled back. The little private smile that Cas wore had him feel bloated with bursts of happiness that he could barely contain. He unnecessarily nudged at Cas’s stomach with his foot and Cas let out a shocked cry, scooting back with a laugh while swatting Dean’s probing foot away. Dean laughed too, because they were being so _stupid_ and he was _so fucking happy_ , gasping for breath and squirming into the couch while Cas tried to gain retribution by mercilessly going for his stomach.

“Stop, stop— _stop_ timeout _Cas_!” Dean laughed and shoved at Cas’s face. Cas collapsed on top of Dean, knocking his forehead against Dean’s heaving chest, his body still shaking from silently laughing. “Get off me, you ass.”

Cas looked up and grinned. He wrapped his arms around Dean and buried his face into his chest. “No.”

“You’re like some weird ass leech human hybrid right now,” said Dean, poking Cas by his side again and making him squirm with a burst of laughter.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Your _face_ is disgusting.”

“You love this face.”

Dean laughed. “Only ‘cause you’re hot.”

Cas pinched Dean on the arm for that, and Dean pretended to roll over, leaving Cas wailing and clinging to him and sinking his fingers into Dean’s side like a cat being forced into the bath. After all was said and done, Dean found his arms settled around Cas, fitting into the crooks and slopes of his body. They said nothing for a while except smile at each other and kiss languidly, their works forgotten on the side.

Christ, Cas was turning him into a giant _sap_. They were honest to god cuddling on the couch, and Dean was savouring every second of the warmth surrounding his entire body.

And that was okay. This, was okay.

Dean sat up a little after his arm started falling asleep, forcing a grunt out of Cas. “Hey, Cas?”

Cas hummed.

“Why don’t you play the piano for a bit?”

“But I’m comfortable _here_ ,” Cas grumbled.

“I played for you back in Sioux Falls, didn’t I? C’mon,” Dean said. “Please?”

Cas hummed again, and kissed Dean’s neck. “Only for that.”

After Cas begrudgingly shifted off of Dean, he settled himself down in front of his piano. He rested his fingers on the white and black keys. He took in a breath, and played.

Cas had been practicing this song for some time, the one Dean had heard on and off over skype for the past few months. Maybe it was the graceful way his fingers glided across the keyboard that left Dean feeling all tingly, or how delicately he caressed the keys during the softer notes ( _pianissimo_ , Dean recalled Cas call them), or how the jumps between the octaves were honed with fierce passion, or how imperfectly he’d play; tripping on a note here and there, occasionally flopping on his rhythm, that sort of stuff. Cas wasn’t a pro at it, and it’s all Dean needed, really.

Dean clapped a little when Cas was done. “Thanks,” Dean said quietly. “That was awesome.”

Cas sheepishly smiled back in return. After a moment of grinning at each other from sides of the room, Dean patted his side as an invitation, and Cas took it, striding across the room to sink into the cushion beside him.

They made out for a while. It was nice, to be relaxed and loose around Cas with his tongue in his mouth. What was also nice was the undercurrent of arousal slowly creeping up a level as Dean treaded his hand under Cas’s shirt, ravishing at the way his muscles jumped against Dean’s touch. The kissing turned a little more breathless, a little more impatient, and fuck, Dean wanted to bury himself in Cas and never come back.

Dean broke off the kiss to saddle Cas in place, who looked expectant with his bottom lips between his teeth and cheeks flush as Dean experimentally ground down. Dean slowly picked up his pace, rocking his hips down on Cas’s half-hard cock while Cas watched him through half-lidded eyes, heavy with arousal.

Cas’s grip on Dean’s hips tightened, halting Dean to a stop. Dean would be embarrassed by the pathetic whine he made at the back of his throat if Cas’s body wasn’t too warm against Dean’s touch and Cas’s hands too warm and too overwhelming and too _everything_. “ _What_?” Dean hissed.

Cas was panting a little, and huh, Dean was pretty proud of that. “You’re sure?”

Dean didn’t even have it in him to be snarky about it. “Fuck yeah, I’m sure.” And just to prove how much he meant that, Dean ground down again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cas breathed out. He buckled against Dean, his fingers pressing into Dean’s sides and his eyes fluttering shut.  He tugged Dean’s head down by his hair, and kissed him eagerly. “Alright,” Cas breathed against Dean’s lips.

Dean didn’t need further encouragement.

They were both ungraceful at taking their clothes off. Dean almost tripped over his pants halfway down to his knees, and Cas barely managed to take his shirt off without ripping off a button or two. Having missed the couch completely, they ended up on the floor by the time they had nothing but their boxers on, and their socks. Dean felt Cas’s socks rub against his leg, and had to break their kiss to laugh.

“What?” came Cas’s baffled voice.

“ _Dude._ ” Dean pointed at their socks.

Cas looked down at the source of Dean’s laughter. He looked back up at Dean. “I don’t mind,” he stated, and Dean chuckled.

“Didn’t take you for a socks-on kinda guy,” Dean said.

Cas grinned wolfishly. “I like the thrill.”

“Wow, Cas. That’s just _filthy_.”

They stared at each other for a pause before breaking into a fit of laughter while clutching at each other. When the laughing died down, Dean found Cas grinning down at him.

Dean poked at Cas’s side. “What’s the smug look for?”

“You,” Cas caressed Dean’s cheek gently, his voice a hush. “You’re beautiful.”

“You know it,” Dean grinned, if only to hide how flustered he felt by such a simple statement. “Hottest buff around town.”

Cas snorted. “I’m sure you are, Dean. But.” He took Dean’s hand and planted a kiss against his palm. “Your patience,” the kiss lingered down to his wrist, and his forearm and up to his shoulder, “your loyalty,” Cas peppered the kisses along his throat, smiled against his skin with a huff, “your ability to love.”

Cas mouthed at just under Dean’s jawline, and Dean felt like his entire body was on fire as he desperately writhed underneath Cas for more friction against his bulge. Their boxers were suddenly not thin enough, and Cas needed to get out of them _now._

“You’re stubborn,” Cas continued, making his way down to Dean’s chest, “and infuriating at times.”

“We really need to _jesuschrist_ —” Dean inhaled sharply, his back arching upwards as Cas encased Dean’s nipple with his mouth. “—work on your dirty talk,” he managed out.

As if chastising him, Cas responded by thumbing at Dean’s other nipple in a circular motion. “And all the other sides of you, too,” Cas continued, laying a light kiss on the center of Dean’s chest. “You’re beautiful.”

“Uh,” Dean’s brain short-circuited. He really did _not_ have enough blood in his brain to somehow reply to all of that right now. “Thanks?”

For some reason it must’ve been the right thing to say, since Cas broke into a full grin and let out a loud huff that tickled Dean’s chest, the grin lighting up his entire face. He kissed Dean on the mouth again, surprising Dean with the tenderness of it.

Dean felt Cas slowly rock against him, and fuck, these boxers needed to come off centuries ago. He managed to slide Cas’s boxers off halfway, but there was no way to actually get him out of his god damn underwear with Cas sitting on top of Dean. He half-contemplated if it would be worth Cas’s wrath to just literally rip the boxers off.

Sensing Dean’s obvious distress about the boxers, Cas broke their kiss, and sat up. “Allow me.”

Cas left Dean lying on the floor and sat up onto his knees. Dean almost started protesting at the lack of kissing going on until he realized what Cas was doing. Dean sat back up against his elbows, not daring to look away.

Cas dug under the elastic waistband with his fingers. He teased out of his boxers, lowering the waistline agonizingly slow with his lower lips tucked between his teeth. The head of Cas’s erection peaked out from underneath the fabric, a bead of precome rolling down it. Dean clenched his fists to restrain from touching, licking, tasting. “Holy _fuck_.”

Cas grinned lewdly. “That’s the general idea, yes.”

Cas helped Dean wiggle out of his own boxers, and shucked it to the side. His hands ghosted along Dean’s torso, causing his entire body to shiver.

“Cas,” Dean broke out, barely recognizing his own heavy voice from equal parts want and pleasure. Cas knowingly gazed down at him as he hovered right above Dean’s erection. Cas hummed with contemplation, a playful smile on his lips, and Dean groaned in frustration at the way Cas’s breath brushed against his dick.

Cas eyed Dean’s erection with lidded eyes again, and looked back up completely serious. “I’m going to suck you off.”

Dean heaved once, twice, trembling under Cas’s hands. “Super. Be my guest,” he replied shakily. “Condom?”

As Dean found out, Cas treated sex with the same intense focus as he did with everything else. Dean held on for dear life as Cas’s warm mouth worked on Dean’s erection. His hips jerked against Cas’s firm hold, his fingers digging into the flesh of his hips, probably hard enough to bruise. Dean loved every second of it.

Dean thought he was doing pretty well lasting for more than two seconds—especially considering the years of dry spell and the absolutely _obscene_ wet slurping sounds, along with the occasional pleased humming from the back of Cas’s throat that drove Dean up the walls, Dean was a fucking champ at lasting this long. That was, until Cas suddenly slowed his pace down, dragging on every time he pulled away and took Dean back into his mouth. Dean helplessly writhed underneath him as everything whited out and hyper-focused on the unhurried way Cas’s tongue twirled around the head of his dick after every bob of his head—

“Cas—I’m—” was all Dean managed to get out before his body stiffened from pleasure pulsing throughout, Cas’s name leaving his mouth with a breathless gasp. Cas generously stroked him through his orgasm, letting Dean weakly fuck into his loose fist few times as the warm come coated the inside of the condom, a little seeping at the edge of the base.

Dean twitched from oversensitivity at every kiss Cas planted on the inner side of his thighs, each one with a whispered praise like “you’re so good for me,” and “you’re so beautiful like this,” and some other sappy shit Dean definitely didn’t pay attention to after those (if he did, he was pretty sure he’d cry). Dean pulled him up for a kiss, and grimaced at the lingering taste of latex mixed in.

Cas seemed amused by Dean’s disgust, and gingerly stripped the condom off Dean’s now flaccid dick. He threw it to the side after methodically tying it up. “Was that good for you?”

“Good,” Dean echoed. “More like, I think you blew my brains out through my dick.”

Cas huffed, his head bowed and the corners of his eyes crinkling from his smile. Dean glanced down at the obvious boner Cas was still sporting. “Need a hand taking care of this?” Dean asked, grabbing hold of Cas’s shaft and lazily rubbing the vein on the underside of his cock with his thumb.

“ _Oh,_ ” Cas hunched over, his face buried in Dean’s shoulder and his arms thrown over them as Dean took his time stroking up and down, gathering the precome from the top to slick it up nice and wet. “Dean,” he whined, “ _faster_.”

The impatience in Cas’s voice had Dean chuckling, and Dean laid a kiss underneath Cas’s ear. “But Cas,” Dean breathed into Cas’s ear, knowing exactly what sort of effect his voice was having if the way Cas shivered was any indication, “I was going to ask if you’d rather have me jerk you off, or if you want to fuck me.”

Cas stiffened. “You’d let me do that?”

“Fuck yeah,” Dean murmured, mouthing on the side of Cas’s neck as the musky scent of sweat filled his senses. He’d have to ask about whether leaving hickeys was cool with him when they were both less distracted later. The thought alone of Cas sporting one during his lectures had Dean’s dick twitch in interest despite having gotten off few minutes ago. “You can open me up one finger at a time, fill me up with your cock—and I’d love every second of it.”

Cas ground his forehead against Dean’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he uttered as he weakly rocked into Dean’s fist, tightening his embrace against Dean. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to last with you like this.”

“I’ve had my turn. This round’s solely for you.”

“I’m not—” Cas panted, “the carpet—could hurt you—”

“Then put me on the couch, and you can fuck me,” Dean replied, caring to not tighten his fist too much against Cas’s otherwise unlubed shaft. “Or you can go on the couch, and I can ride you.”

“Too—many— _options_ ,” Cas growled impatiently, and Dean laughed, which ended with a yelp as Cas slid both his hands underneath Dean’s thighs, and practically manhandled him onto the couch.   

Cas took a step back—slightly out of breath from the rocking and lifting Dean up, his erection heavy in the air—and seemed to admire the view that was Dean slumped against the couch, half-hard. “Stay here,” he commanded, as if Dean was going to just up and leave in the middle of _this_. “And _don’t_ touch yourself without me.”

“Depends on how long you take,” Dean replied with a grin, his hand already teasingly reaching for his cock.

Cas must’ve made it upstairs and back down with record time. Dean caught the bottle of lube that Cas threw at him, and quirked his eyebrows. “You don’t want to prep me?”

“I want to watch,” replied Cas, placing himself on the coffee table and rolling a condom down his length. “Open yourself up for me, Dean.”

They’d known each other for practically half of their lives, yet this was a completely different kind of bossy Dean hadn’t seen in Cas before. It was fucking amazing and fucking _hot_ because holy shit, who knew Dean would be so into having Cas tell him what to do?

Dean decided, hell fucking _right_ he was going to open himself up for Cas. As matter of fact, he was going to put on a big performance—opening his legs wide open as he carefully inserted his lubed up index finger, all the while staring Cas right in the eyes. Dean gave himself some time before he started to crook his finger, with Cas intently focused on him. Dean preened under the attention.

“I used to think about this,” Dean started with a pant, breathing proving to be a little more difficult when his neck was upright against the back of the couch. He watched Cas’s hands grip tight onto the edge of the table, and grinned. “Wondered what you’d look like while you watched me.”

“You thought of me while you touched yourself?” Cas asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Didn’t let myself for the longest time,” Dean admitted, rocking up on his finger a little. “Couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Knew I’d want more.” Dean coaxed another finger in, this one slightly more resisting than the first one. “Never thought you’d have me.”

Cas’s face softened, losing a little bit of the hard edge of arousal. “Dean, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and more.” Dean chuckled, because of course Cas was being a sappy shit while he watched Dean’s fingers being buried up his ass. “What changed?”

“What?”

Cas licked his lips. “What prompted you to finally touch yourself while thinking of me?”

Dean huffed. Wasn’t it obvious? “You came back to me,” he replied, adding in a third finger now. It was a bit of a challenge with the angle, but just the tip was enough to set the hole ablaze. “Visited me in Sioux Falls, and I was done.”

Cas shot up from the table, leaving it to clatter from the force, and stalked up to him with determination in his eyes. He made his way into between Dean’s legs and kissed him, which Dean eagerly reciprocated. “Are you almost done?” he rasped against Dean’s lips, his erection knocking against Dean’s abdomen.

Dean was three fingers in, two of them knuckles deep—he hadn’t fingered himself in a while, but he definitely remembered how much he loved this. He carefully pulled out his fingers one at a time, and he felt loose and ready. “I think so.”

Dean wrapped his legs around Cas’s waist while Cas lined himself up, his arms encasing Dean to steady himself. Despite the generous amount of lube and his looseness, Dean still stiffened at the blunt intrusion for a second, and Cas paused. Dean gave him a reassuring smile. “Go on, Cas.”

Taking the encouragement, Cas slowly pushed in, making sure to watch Dean for any problems until Dean was completely full with Cas’s cock inside him. Dean heard the leather crinkle beside his ears as Cas gripped onto the couch in order to not move while Dean adjusted around him.

Big breaths, Dean reminded himself. They breathed together, Dean’s fingers digging into Cas’s back and his legs still tight around his waist. Cas’s thickness was more than enough for Dean to feel the fullness, and fuck, he forgot what this was like, being so completely full right to the edge between being overwhelmed by it and just enough that he could focus on nothing else.

“You can move,” Dean said after some laboured breathing. As soon as the words were out, Cas pulled outwards and pushed in a little further, soon setting a steady rhythm.

As Cas had predicted, it didn’t last that long. The rhythm soon escalated to quicker, deeper thrusts, the sound of Cas’s balls slapping against Dean’s ass and their rough breaths filling the room, the angle just right to nudge against Dean’s prostate.

“Fuck,” Dean said. “Cas, _fuck_ —”

Cas stiffened, getting in one, two, three more thrusts before he shuddered out a “ _Dean_ ,” and collapsed on top of him. Dean worked the last few pushes against him to let him ride through the orgasm, and the heat that’d been curling tighter and tighter in Dean released as well, letting him come with white strips painting across his abdomen.

They stayed interlocked for a bit, taking some time to come back down from it all. Cas pulled out slowly while Dean released him from the lock of his legs. After Cas had taken care of the condom, he came back with a warm towel, and dabbed both of them clean before he threw it aside and joined Dean on the couch.

“Was that good, or was that good?” Dean asked, wrapping an arm around Cas, who wiggled into his hold. Cas sighed contently, which Dean took as an answer itself. “This couch is _way_ too small for both of us though,” he pointed out. “We should’ve gone upstairs for this.”

Cas threw a leg and an arm over Dean in response.

 

* * *

 

“And you’re sure you have everything?”

“Yeah, Cas, I’m sure.”

“Alright. Drive back safely,” Cas said for the last time, his hands patting around Dean’s chest restlessly.

Dean caught Cas’s hand in his, and squeezed. “Three months, right?”

Cas nodded, and he stared at Dean like he was trying to memorize every feature of him before he left. Couldn’t blame the guy, since Dean was doing the same thing. “I’ll let you know when I buy my plane ticket.”

“See you in the summer, then?”

“I’ll see you in the summer.”

Cas tugged Dean down for a goodbye kiss, and god, how was Dean supposed to go on for another three months without this now that he knew what it’d be like? God knew spending one measly, awesome weekend wasn’t enough to get his proper fill of Cas’s company.

“Dean.”

“Hmm?”

“ _Dean,_ ” Cas peeled Dean off of him. “You won’t be back until next week at this rate.”

Dean took in the sight before him, with Cas’s hair sticking out everywhere and his dark stubbles from not being taken care of all day after the _last_ time Dean had tried to leave few hours ago only to have ended up back in the house for _one last round then I’m gone I promise Cas_.

Dean sighed, admitting defeat and giving Cas one last peck before actually _leaving_ leaving. “Can’t blame me for trying.”  

“Of course not,” Cas replied, who was apparently amused more than anything else by Dean’s reluctance to leave, since obviously he was better at this than Dean was, the fucker. He leaned against the Impala, peeking into the window. “I’ll miss you.”

“Yeah yeah, you and your damage control.”

Cas huffed. Dean gave Cas a twitch of a smile, unable to conjure up anything else now that he was actually gripping onto the wheels, ready to drive away from Cas. “I’ll miss you too,” he mumbled. “See ya, Cas.”

Dean glanced at Cas from his rear-view mirror as he drove away, who was standing in his drive way in the cold, watching Dean drive away. By the time Dean got to his first turn on the road, Cas was still there.

Dean forced himself to focus on driving despite the urge to turn right back.

 

* * *

 

The next three months of waiting was absolutely hellish. Sam called him an overdramatic baby about it, so Dean reminded him that he still had the photo of Sam crying after he proposed to Jess. It probably ran in the family, really.

Dean waited with a cap pressed on top of his head, squinting at the warm May sunlight of Sioux Fall. His eyes were glued to the gate, until Cas walked out of it with his dark messed up hair from sleeping on the plane, looking around and perking up when his eyes landed on Dean. Dean strutted over and hugged him, not caring who saw them.

Fuck, long-distance relationship sucked ass.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas muffled into Dean’s shirt.

“Hey Cas,” Dean sighed, soon feeling Cas’s hand creep up his back soothingly. It was so nice to have him in his arms again, his hair nuzzling into his face and all that. He pulled away, if only to get a better look at Cas’s face. “Fuck, this long distance thing sucks so fucking much.”

“Agreed. Actually, I—”

Cas’s expression screwed up before he schooled himself back, and Dean’s curiosity perked up. “What?”

Cas hesitated, but shook his head. “Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Later,” Cas replied, and that was that.

With the windows rolled down the spring breeze kissed them, and Dean’s hand stayed locked with Cas’s during the entire ride back to Dean’s place. They briefly caught up on things, mostly with comfortable silence in between. Before they knew it, they were pulling into Dean’s apartment parking lot.

Dean threw his keys on top of his pile of mail on the way in, when Cas’s eyes followed and quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at the pink save-the-date invitation with Dean’s name on it. Dean shrugged. “Yeah, I know. I’ve got few months to figure it out.” Cas snorted, but said nothing else on the matter. Dean mentally made a note to ask him about it later, after all of Dean’s shit were sorted out.

They lazed around for the rest of the afternoon, kissing lazily and generally basking in each other’s company. Dean actually _did_ buy a full keyboard for Cas since his last visit here, which earned him a jamming session in more ways than one.

It was after they were cleaned up and eating dinner that Dean brought up the subject that’d been nagging at him. “I’m going to tell mom and dad about us. And about my books, but about us, too.”

Cas stopped mid-bite on his burger, ketchup dripping from his hands. He finished his bite, and Dean patiently waited as Cas chewed thoroughly. He swallowed. “And you’re… sure about this?”

Dean thought back to how the past three months went; constantly in doubt of whether he was doing the right thing, only to catch a glimpse of the piles of his book with Cas’s notes inside and be reassured again.

Dean reached across the table for Cas’s hand. “Look,” he said. “I want you to be able to come to my birthday dinner at home. To Sam’s birthday dinner, to family gatherings where I don’t have to lie through my teeth about you. Don’t you think that’d be nice?”

“I don’t think a meal shared between your father and I will have any potential to be pleasant.”

Dean guffawed, all the tension in his shoulders leaving him. “C’mon, man, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” Cas replied, and Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m coming with you.”

“Nah,” Dean replied. “It’d be probably worse if you were there.”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ , jesus. I just mean—” Dean sighed. “You know how dad is. I just want to ease them into it, you know? It’s already probably going to end up with me disowned or something, anyway. No need to fuel the fire.”

“You don’t know that.”

Dean laughed, his chest hollow. “If there’s one thing I’m completely sure about, it’s how this conversation is going to go. I’ll tell them how gay I am for you, dad’s probably going to go ballistic on the fact that I’m bi _and_ lusting after your Shurley ass.”

“I do have a nice ass,” Cas admitted.

“Yeah alright Tony Manero, tone it done.”

“Who?”

“He’s—Nevermind.”

Cas stroked their intertwined hands with his thumb. Dean focused on it instead of the rising panic at thinking about confronting John. “I want to let myself have this,” he said.

“Okay,” Cas replied softly. “But you don’t have to do everything by yourself, Dean, and certainly not when it comes to validating our relationship to your parents.”

Dean let out a shaky sigh. “Okay.”

“Whatever decision that you’re content with is the decision I’ll support in the end,” Cas said earnestly. “If you don’t want me there, I won’t come.”

He thought he was going to combust right then and there, but the weight of Cas’s hand in his kept him together. “I want you there.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

Dean squeezed Cas’s hand. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas kissed him in response.

Few days after, they were tangled up on the couch watching the news when Dean’s cell started ringing. John.

“—and that was the internet sensation, Tardar Sauce, or otherwise known as Grumpy Cat. Isn’t she just absolutely adorable? Coming up next is the escaped—”

“Shit,” Dean fumbled with the phone. “Cas, mute that for a sec.”

“—who still hasn’t been found, and local police have issued a state-wide warning—”

Cas turned the TV off completely to focus on Dean, and Dean answered the urgently ringing phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, son,” rang John’s voice.

“Hey, dad.”

“I heard from your mother that you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah. I—um—I just wanted to let you guys know that I wanted to come up and see you guys?” Dean squeaked.

“Sure, Dean. You know you’re always welcome here,” John said warmly.

Dean’s stomach flipped at even the thought of telling him about Cas. He was going to blow the fuck _up_ , and he’ll never be able to look at him in the face again—

Cas squeezed Dean’s hand a little tighter—probably because Dean freaking out was as obvious as any—and Dean forced himself to take calculated breaths.

“Yeah, uh—” Dean cleared his throat. “Actually, I, um, I wanted to talk about something with you and mom, if that’s okay.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“I’d rather talk about it in person,” Dean said hurriedly. “It’s, um, yeah. But I need to tell you something. Few things, actually.”

John was quiet for a second, and Dean squeezed his eyes. He couldn’t possibly know, so what was this obtrusive silence for? “Dean, you can talk to us about anything any time. You know that, right?”

Dean breathed in. Breathed out. “Yeah, dad, I know.”

“Good, good,” John muttered. “We gotta be there for each other even if it’s the end of the world. We’re family, after all.”

Guilt ate up Dean’s insides, crawling just underneath his skin. God, why did he think this was a good idea in the first place? This was going to ruin everything, and it wasn’t like John was _ever_ going to change his mind so why should Dean bother to try at all—

Dean eyed Cas, who was sitting right across from him and his legs tangled between his own, his fingers laced with Dean’s hand that wasn’t holding the phone. Cas stared intensely, as if he concentrated hard enough, he’d be able to listen in on John’s side of the conversation as well. Cas, with his messed up hair, who Dean’s been in love with ever since he could remember, the guy that he’d waxed poetry about in tens of novels, the one that he was willing to say _screw it all_ for.

It didn’t matter if John didn’t approve in the end. It wasn’t going to change anything, since this wasn’t for John.

This was for Cas. This was for _himself_.

That was more than enough reasons to bother at all.

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly, squeezing Cas’s hand. “Yeah. I’ll see you soon, dad. Tell mom I said hi.”

John said his goodbyes, and they hung up. Dean could feel the nervous jitters run underneath his skin like he’d been electrocuted, and he realized that he was vaguely shaking. He dropped his phone into the couch, and the next thing he knew he was inside Cas’s arms.

He thought he could vaguely hear Cas whisper soothing things to him, rubbing his back. “Oh god,” Dean trembled, and haughtily laughed. “This is really it.”

“Yes,”

“Shit,” Dean muttered. “Shit.”

“It’s going to be alright,” Cas murmured. “He loves you.”

Dean barked out a harsh laugh. They both knew it wasn’t going to be alright at _all_ , but Dean still wanted to believe it in that moment.

Maybe. Just maybe. It will be alright.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning** : this chapter contains John Winchester, and attempted emotional manipulation of one or more major characters.

It wasn’t alright at all.

For starters, the entire drive on the way was an absolute disaster. Dean kept forgetting things—his jacket, his keys, his seatbelt. Multiple times he’d had to swerve to the side to calm down (see: swearing up a storm while he felt like he was being stretched thin and snap at the edges at any moment) while Cas had his hand firmly in between Dean’s shoulder blades. It was pretty embarrassing and pathetic, but Cas only seemed worried more than anything else.

By the time they pulled into the Winchesters’ driveway, Dean was pretty sure he was about to have a heart attack right there and then. It was a wonder how he didn’t bolt on the spot before he rang the doorbell, the sound signifying his doom. Or something. Fuck.

The door opened, revealing his mom. “Dean!” she exclaimed with a smile. Mary blinked at Cas standing beside Dean and cast a confused smile.

“Mom, um, this is—” Dean coughed. Cas, Dean realized, was rigid beside him. “You remember Cas. Castiel Shurley?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Mrs. Winchester,” Cas said, extending his hand for a handshake.

Recognition lit up her eyes, and Mary’s smile waned a little. She glanced back inside and back to Cas, and shook his hand firmly. “Hi, Cas. I know you’re good friends with Sam, but I didn’t know you were keeping in touch with Dean, too?”

“I—yes,” Cas said stiffly, his eyes darting back from Dean to Mary. “I’ve been keeping in touch with him for a while.”

Dean was too nervous to even laugh about the unintentionally hidden innuendo in that. And, well, his mom  _was_  right there. “Right. Anyway, can we come in?”

“Oh,” Mary exclaimed, “yes, look at me having you two stand out here.”

“Mary?” John’s voice called from somewhere in the house, and Dean froze. “Where are you? Is that Dean?”

John stilled in front of them, gruff and tall and a force to be reckoned with as always. His eyes assessed the situation before he asked, “Who’s this?”

“Dad, this is—”

“Castiel Shurley,” Cas said again as he stepped out with a hand extended for a shake, a little more defiantly than necessary. “Dean and I attended high school together, as you might recall.”

John eyed the hand, eyed Cas then Dean, then back to Cas. “I remember,” John said slowly. “Dean didn’t say we’d be seeing you.”

Cas still had his hand up stubbornly, despite it being obvious that John wasn’t going to shake it. “I insisted I come along,” he replied, and Dean whipped his head in surprise.

John glanced at Dean, then back at Cas again. “Why were you with him in the first place?”

“John,” Mary warned, which John ignored.

“We were hanging out,” Dean said, throwing caution out the window. John and Cas both broke their staring contest to turn to Dean. From surprise, from anger, he didn’t know.

“Hanging out,” John said testily, a warning in itself.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, both directly and to the warning. “Figured I’d bring him along since he dropped by for a visit all the way from California. I didn’t want to leave him stranded back at my place.”

“Dean, we could’ve waited until Cas left,” Mary said. “Unless this talk is something urgent?”

“No. I mean, well, I don’t know.”

“What, he couldn’t wait until after you came to visit us?” John shot.

“No, because I invited him along,” Dean replied. “Because he’s my friend.”

“Friend,”  John echoed.

“Yes,” Dean hissed.

“And you couldn’t wait to be with your  _friend_  until after your visit over here?”

“That’s enough,” Mary cut in, stepping in front of John to block off the glaring contest. She turned to John. “John, our sons’ friends are always welcome in our house. ”

John looked about to protest, but he seemed to bite back on his words by whatever expression Mary seemed to wear. He settled on crossing his arms with a scowl.

“And Dean, honey, while it’s wonderful to have Cas here, it’d be nice if we can have a heads up next time,” Mary scolded gently. “We’d like some time to prepare and be a proper host before we meet the guest. Right, John?”

John grunted.

Dean blinked, the tension in his body bleeding out. “Uh, yeah. Sure, mom. Sorry.”

Mary looked back and forth between John and Dean, and nodded. “Good. Have you two eaten yet?” When Dean and Cas both shook their heads, Mary smiled. “Then you’re both just in time for dinner. Do you like chicken, Cas?”

“Oh,” Cas startled. “I, um, yes.”

“Awesome,” Mary grinned. “Now, all of you help with setting up the table, please.”

Mary led the way to the kitchen, Cas following right after her. John hung back to say, “This talk isn’t over,” to Dean, and stomped away towards the kitchen as well.

Great. Maybe five minutes being here and already so much shit was happening. Fucking perfect. Dean grit his teeth, and followed the rest to the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

“So,” John said, stabbing a carrot with his fork. “I hear you’re a professor at Stanford.”

“Yes,” Cas replied stiffly, looking up from his plate. Dean thought the air was so heavy it would crush them all and kill them.

“And? What’re you teaching?”

“History.”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “History?”

“Yes.”

John nodded with an amused huff. “It’s a good thing you got lucky with the job you have, then.”

Dean’s angry response hung from his lips, but before he could ask John to please shut the hell up, Cas retorted, “The core of history is to learn from the past and help us recognize a problem with the same pattern in the present to prevent repeating history. I think such a lesson is irreplaceable in value, regardless of whether I now help teach that to the younger generation for a better future or not.”

An awkward silence loomed over them after, and Mary coughed. “What a wonderful way to put it,” she said with a polite smile. “Isn’t that right, John?”

John smiled thinly in response, and stabbed another one of his carrots. Dean schooled his expression carefully so he didn’t break into a smile, and guiltily went back to his plate of food for feeling smug. He wanted John and Cas to get along, not butt heads together. Dean glanced over at Cas to find one of his tiniest smiles playing on his lips, and concentrated on his mashed potato so as not to slip up.

“So, Dean,” Mary said, “what did you want to talk to us about?”

“Oh. Um.” Dean swallowed his food. Straight to the point, then. “I was thinking about quitting at Bobby’s.”

“Quitting at Bobby’s?” Mary echoed.

“What are you going on about?” John asked.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been working there, but I’ve found myself a more… suitable gig now,” Dean replied. “Fixing cars is awesome, but I don’t think it’s for me as a lifelong thing.”

“So?” Mary prompted. “What did you find, Dean?”

Dean glanced at Cas, who squeezed his knee reassuringly under the table.

“Writing,” Dean mumbled.

“What?” John frowned. “I didn’t get that.”

“Writing,” Dean said, a bit louder. “I write.”

John and Mary shared a confused look, and turned back to Dean.

“Since when do you write?” asked Mary.

“Um. It’s been a while.”

“You realize writing has no money behind it, Dean,” John said.

Dean straightened at John’s tone. “That would be the usual case, yeah.”

“It’ll be years before you can be published and it’s too late for you now. You won’t make it in that area, not with your talent.”

Dean clenched his jaw. Cas bristled in his seat.

“John, you can at least hear him out,” Mary said.

“Mary, are you actually hearing this? Dean, get your head out of the clouds and stick to the garage,” John said, picking his fork back up. “That one actually pays money.”

“I’m published, actually,” Dean snapped. “Several times. I have enough royalty to last me now that I have my own movie, which was apparently a success according to my editor.”

John looked back up from his plate in surprise. Mary blinked. “What?”

“I was earning enough to last me a solid year before that, too. But yeah, I’m pretty steady, financially speaking. Thanks for the worry though, dad,” Dean smiled thinly. And the crippling discouragement, he added silently.

“Well, that’s—that’s great to hear, honey!” Mary said, squeezing his arm. “John?”

John was mostly stunned into silence as he stared at Dean with a slackened jaw. Cas seemed oddly proud by Dean’s side.  

“What’s your pen name?” Mary asked, when John failed to say anything.

“Hector Afranian. Please don’t go looking for me, because it’s just weird—”

Mary’s jaw dropped. “ _You’re_  Hector Afranian? Ellen was obsessed with him couple years back.”

“You know me? Wait,  _Ellen_? Really?”

“Dean, you’re a huge deal! Goodness—”

“You know him, Mary?” John finally said.

“Of course I do! He’s up there, John, with big names like Nicholas Sparks. Everyone knows him,” Mary replied.

Dean winced. “I’m going to go ahead and say that being known alongside him is  _really_  not how I wanted to be known.”

Mary smiled. “Take it as a compliment, fame-wise at least.”

“Uh huh.”

“Why did you never tell us about this, Dean?” All eyes turned to John. “Why did this take you so long to tell us?”

Dean swallowed down the anger that rose from the words. “Because I knew you’d be against it, dad, just like you were  _two seconds_  ago. I wanted to put both my feet down since being an author isn’t the most stable career, and I knew you would’ve been against it from the start.” Not to mention the genre he was writing for, but hopefully that wouldn’t have to come up.

“Dean,” John chastised. “I would’ve supported you—”

“You  _just_ told me I should stick to it at the garage!”

“Don’t cut me off,” John said sternly. Dean clamped his mouth shut. “If I had known how serious you are about it, I would’ve supported you through it. That’s what family does.”

“Right.”

John regarded him for a bit before he nodded in approval. “In any case, good job, son. I’m proud of you.”

His stomach squeezed. His whole life he thought he’d wanted to hear those words, but they sounded like nothing they were supposed to. “Thanks,” Dean mumbled. At least that didn’t go too badly, and by Cas’s look, he agreed.

“What sort of stuff do you write? What are your books called?” John asked.

Oh, god.

“John, I just said he’s on par with Nicholas Sparks,” Mary laughed. “You know, the famous romcom writer?”

“Romcom?” John repeated with a cringe. Dean held his breath, until John roared into laughter. “Son, I think you could’ve picked a better genre than that.”

“You,” Dean’s heart beat away in his chest, “you don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?” John asked incredulously. “I’m just glad you’ve finally found your footing, Dean. Is that why you said nothing about it?” he frowned. “Because you thought… I’d mind?”

Dean stared at him with a slackened jaw, and his chest tightened from such an easy acceptance. He shook himself out of it. “Uh, no, ‘course not. Well, um, I was maybe thinking about trying out horror in the future, but yeah. I actually got an offer for another movie for another one of my books.”

“Oh,” Cas blinked in surprise. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean flushed. “I meant to tell you soon. I—”

“Wait,  _he_ knew?” John asked pointedly. “He knew the whole time, and we didn’t?”

Maybe as a writer he could’ve appreciated such a perfect opportunity to nudge at his character to resolve his main conflict; he might’ve even punched the air as he wrote the question and the tension that followed after the question left John’s mouth. As it was himself and not some fictional character who was about to face his own source of years of emotional issues, he felt nothing but dread for all the shit about to hit the fan and hope that it’d result in minimal damage.

“I only recently found out,” Cas said over on top of Dean’s “Yeah, he did.”

“He’s actually the—uh, he’s been my inspiration for the books.”

Dean blindly groped for Cas’s hand, and it was suddenly there for Dean to grab onto. Both John and Mary’s eyes followed their linked hands.

“Oh,” Mary said softly.

Despite the sick twist of his stomach, Dean refused to look away from the way John’s face fell and Mary’s hand covering her mouth as her eyes traced back to John. This was definitely not how he planned on coming out to his parents. He squeezed onto Cas’s hand tighter.

“Before you say anything, I—”

“No,” John cut sharply.

Dean blinked in surprise, and stammered, “Dad, at least let me—”

“I said,  _no_ , Dean,” John replied curtly. “I won’t hear it, I don’t  _want_ to hear it, end of discussion.”

“You can’t just—”

“I can, and I am,” John said, cutting Dean off again. “I told you he brought that kid down here for a reason, Mary.”

“John,” Mary said helplessly.

“See what happens when you don’t listen to me? We should’ve told them to leave the moment they stepped past that door—”

Without letting go on Cas’s hand, without thinking of consequences for once, Dean stepped towards John.

“You can’t  _do_ that,” he lashed out, surprising John enough to have him turn back around and face Dean. Fuck,  _good._ “You can’t just ignore me like that and pretend this isn’t happening, because it  _is_.”

“And I  _said_ ,” John’s voice rose, booming like thunder and raising all the hair at the back of Dean’s neck, sending him back into his younger self, looking up at John who towered over him and looked down at him under his nose like a wrathful god, “ _end of discussion, Dean_.”

Dean swallowed down his fear, and nothing but white noise filled the inside of his head. There was no eating his words at this point. “I won’t let you dismiss me like I’m still a  _child_  who can’t do anything by himself.”

“You won’t  _let_ me?” John let out a harsh laugh. “Who are you to tell me that, huh, Dean? You think you’re a big grown-up who’s better than me now, so you can talk that way to me?”

“You didn’t even  _let me talk_!” Dean yelled back. A chair clattered somewhere. “This is your fucking  _problem_ , dad—”

“ _Dean_!” Mary chastised, horrified.

“—you will never,  _ever_  give me the respect I fucking  _deserve_ —”

“You think you deserve  _respect_ when you act like  _this_ towards me _?”_

“—because for some reason you think me and Sam are still these snot-nosed kids—”

“You boys will  _always_ be those snot-nosed kids to me,” John yelled, his face red now. “ _Always_ , Dean. You’re my  _kid,_ of  _course_  I’ll always see you that way.”

“And I am  _asking_ y—I’m trying to  _tell_ you,” Dean begged, “I am  _not_  that kid anymore, and neither is Sam. I can make decisions with my life without your help, and I need you, dad, to at least  _hear_ me out when I’m trying to tell you that something means something to me.”

“So what you’re saying,” John muttered darkly, “is that you don’t need me anymore. Me and your mother, you don’t need us anymore now that you’re some big fish in the market.”

“ _John_.”

“What? You heard the boy. He doesn’t care anymore,” John spat.

“You know he doesn’t mean it that way,” Mary replied just as fiercely.

“Does it even matter? We fed him, gave him a good home, and raised him with all we’ve got, and this is what we get in return.”

Dean wanted to throw something. He wanted to watch something shatter into pieces, or punch something, or go bang his head against the wall, or stuff John’s mouth with a sock so he would stop twisting his words to make them feel like poison that rotted Dean from inside out, leaving nothing but a putrescent version of himself.

More than anything, he wanted to scream from the top of his lungs.

John seemed to take Dean’s momentary silence as an answer enough. “Get the hell out of my face,” he muttered. “I don’t even want to look at you right now.”

“Don’t talk to Dean that way.”

Everyone turned to Cas, whose grip had tightened in Dean’s hand.

“What did you just say to me?” John challenged.

Cas stepped in front of Dean, as if he was shielding him away from John. “ _Don’t_ talk to Dean that way,” Cas repeated, and Dean blanched after the initial shock had worn off. What the hell was he doing? “Treat him with some respect, because he deserves  _that_  much from you after all you’ve put him through—”

“Cas,” Dean tugged at Cas’s arm, the panic threatening to overthrow him, “ _stop._ ”

“Who are  _you_  to tell me  _anything_?” John yelled, red in the face. “You intrude into  _my_ house,  _trick_  Dean into agreeing with this somehow, and now you’re going to tell me what to do, because what, you’re wearing big pants at some big name university?”

“This has  _nothing_  to do with my social standings,” Cas growled, “and  _everything_  to do with how you refuse to communicate with your child whenever he needs you to be someone he can rely on.”

“Oh, so now you’re telling me how to raise my kid. Well, you can  _fuck_   _off—”_

“If you’d unbury your head out of the sand for a  _single second_  and just see what your actions have brought then we wouldn’t be  _having_ this conversation—”

“Stop,  _stop_ , both of you, just  _shut the hell up for a second_!”

Dean was standing in front of Cas at this point, physically blocking off both of them from each other. They were both heaving for breath, having yelled at each other from the top of their lungs.

Dean held up Cas’s and his conjoined hands, and John’s face darkened again. “This,  _him,_ Cas is important to me, dad. And I need you to at least _pretend_ to hear me out.”

“You can’t  _seriously_  be expecting me to accept this.”

“I didn’t, dad. I still don’t. But I need you to at least let me  _talk_ —”

“ _Dean_ —”

“ _No_ ,” Dean cut John off harshly. “You know what, dad,  _no_. I’ve had it with this bullshit. I care about you and mom—I  _do_. But you need to understand that I’m not some dirty soccer ball at the back of the alley that you can kick around. Not anymore.”

John took in a deep breath, his glare set on Dean. “That’s all you got to say to me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you walk out that door,” he said, “and don’t you  _ever_  come back here, claiming to be my son again.”

Dean cast his eyes down, and swallowed down his tears. He nodded, and tugged at Cas’s hand. “C’mon,” he croaked, and headed towards the door.

Someone grabbed onto his shoulder and yanked him back.

“Alright that’s  _enough_ , both of you,” Mary said sharply, looking from John to Dean. “Dean, honey, stay the night. It’s too late to be driving anywhere, let alone all the way back to Sioux Falls.”

Dean shook his head. Any longer, and he was sure he was going to start crying. “It’s okay. We can—”

“Stay the night, Dean. Please,” she enunciated with a squeeze of his shoulder. “And you too, Cas.”

“ _Mary_ —”

Mary sharply turned to John, and glared. “He may not be your son anymore, but he’s still mine, and I can invite whoever I want to stay the night for their safety, John. This house isn’t only under  _your_  name.”

John’s jaw slackened, then tightened, and he turned away with no more words as he stomped up the stairs to his room. Guilt gripped inside Dean’s chest, clawing at him like a ferocious animal in a cage. He could deal with him fighting with John, but he didn’t want it to result in John and Mary fighting with each other.

Mary watched John’s retreating back and sighed. She turned to Dean, and smiled sadly. “Your father… Give him some time to get used to the idea. He’ll come around.”

Dean huffed. “I doubt it,” he muttered.

Mary smiled, to Dean’s surprise. “Trust me, he will one way or another. He just… needs to look back at himself few years ago.”

Dean blinked. “What?”

Mary shook her head. “I think maybe he’s scared that you’ll forget about him now that you’ve become a very capable man, and don’t need your parents to take care of you anymore. And you know how he is. He thinks everything he believes in is the truth.”

Dean didn’t reply, and Mary embraced him into a hug. He squeezed his eyes tight in the warmth and comfort it brought him. Mary released him, and cupped Dean’s cheek, beaming up at him. “My baby boy, all grown up. I’m so proud of you.”

She glanced at Cas, and hesitated before she said, “And I’m sorry for never noticing about this before. It must’ve been hard, dealing with it all by yourself.”

Dean started to shake his head, but the tears that spilled out spoke enough for him. God, this was so fucking embarrassing, crying in front of his mom and his best friend—boyfriend—whatever Cas was. He quickly wiped them off while Mary rubbed his forearm soothingly, muttering comforting words at him.

Mary embraced him into another hug, patting his back rhythmically. “I love you, no matter what,” she said.

“Love you too,” Dean choked out.

Mary gave him one last squeeze before she released him, and shot a reassuring smile. “Now, go to bed. Both of you must be exhausted after that long drive and… all that.”

“Mom, it’s okay, really. We can find somewhere else to stay the night and go back tomorrow or something.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Mary chastised. “This is your home, and you’re always welcome here. Cas, you can stay in Dean’s room.”

Cas glanced at Dean, and nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Winchester.”

“It’s Mary,” she replied firmly. “I’m sorry for, well, everything. I’ll apologize on John’s behalf.”

Cas shook his head slightly.

“Sorry for making you fight with dad,” Dean muttered.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Mary reassured firmly. “Don’t worry about that, okay? This isn’t your fault. Now go and get some rest.”

Dean nodded, mostly so the tears that were threatening to spill again at those words wouldn’t show themselves. “Thanks, mom.”

She smiled back, and she looked the kindest person in the world. “Good night, honey.”

Cas trotted after him on the stairs, looking around Dean’s childhood bedroom when they arrived. It was as neat as the last time Dean had visited. “I haven’t been in here in years.”

Dean huffed, and slumped onto his bed. Jesus fuck, Mary was right; he  _was_ exhausted. “Yeah, no shit. How long’s it been?”

“Fifteen years? Sixteen?”

“A long ass time,” Dean replied flippantly. He scooted over on the bed to make room for Cas. “C’mere.”

“Shouldn’t we change into something else first?”

“Into what? We didn’t even bring anything to change into.”

“We could wear your clothes in here.”

“We could, but I’m actually pretty terrified that dad’s gonna come in knocking first thing in the morning tomorrow to kick us out,” Dean replied with a grin, and Cas frowned in confusion, not sure if Dean is joking or not. His grin faltered. “Yeah, I have no idea if I’m joking or not, either. Anyway, c’mon.”

“That bed is too small to fit both of us.”

“ _Cas_ , will you just shut up and get over here?”

They had to cuddle up pretty close in order for Cas to not fall off the edge of the bed. Cas lied on top of Dean’s arm, which was going to cramp up like a bitch in a few if Cas didn’t find another suitable resting spot for his head—like, Dean didn’t know, a fucking  _pillow_. Still, this was nice. Nice, considering they were cramped up together on Dean’s tiny childhood bed, and with John fuming few feet away from them only separated by a wall or two.

It was odd, lying in the one place with the only guy in Dean’s life whose presence wasn’t welcome here, yet it lingered in the corners of the rooms. The desk he used to message him online, the corners he hid himself in anytime John blew up, always hiding his phone under his pillow after texting Cas good night. Dean threw his other arm over Cas and held him in a half-hug.

“D’you remember the codes we used to have?” Dean asked quietly, and Cas craned his neck to stare at what was probably a very unattractive angle of Dean. He pretended he wasn’t insecure about his probable quadruple chins to not ruin the moment. “You know, when I still lived here. I used to sneak on MSN all the time and let you know when to not message me in case dad saw the orange light blinking.”

Cas smiled, just small enough to see from Dean’s vicinity. “Yes. I’m not sure if I remember them all, just that you were very creative with them.” He frowned. “Though now that I think back, why  _did_  we talk in codes? It wasn’t like your father would’ve read our conversation and figured out it was me. You could’ve just told me not to message you for a while.”

Dean shrugged. “Hey, codes are cool. Sam and I still have a bunch of them.”

“I see,” Cas said. “Why do you ask about them?”

Dean rested his chin on top of Cas’s head. There was no real reason to it; being in his childhood bedroom, being under the roof where John’s rules were absolute, got to his head. Maybe he just needed something to remind him that not all of his childhood was as miserable as he remembered it to be. He survived it in his own way after all, didn’t he, when he thought it wasn’t possible.  

“Don’t know,” was what Dean said out loud instead. “Just thinking back to the good old days, I guess.”

“There was barely anything good about high school,” Cas muttered.

“Yeah, well, at least we’re both here now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand your  _face_.”

“That also makes little sense,” Cas replied, though the little smile told Dean that he was in on the joke otherwise. What an asshole.

A bright light passed by their window, presumably a car’s headlights. Dean listened as the sound of the car door shutting muffled through the walls. Their neighbour must’ve been coming back from something, coming back so late. The air had settled back into its summer haze, the nighttime heat an echo of a normal scorching Kansas day. It was still almost too hot to be clinging onto another body like this, but putting any more space between them meant Cas falling off on his ass. Dean entertained the thought briefly, but even he wasn’t that much of an asshole. Not tonight anyway, when the comfort from being able to feel Cas’s chest rise and fall as he breathed was enough to let Dean forget about everything else.

“I’m glad your mother’s accepted you,” said Cas, his voice almost a hush as it rumbled in his chest.

“Me too,” Dean said, equally as quiet. “But what you pulled back there with dad, man. That wasn’t okay.”

Cas bristled. “I didn’t want to stand around and do  _nothing_  while that man talked to you that way—”

“ _That man_  is also my  _dad._ ”

“That doesn’t excuse the way he treats you,” Cas murmured, averting his gaze in guilt despite his words.

“I know,” Dean admitted quietly, and Cas looked back up in surprise. “I know, Cas. That’s why we’re here, right? But you can’t just… talk  _for_ me. This is my problem, and we promised that I’d be the one doing the talking.”

Cas peered at him, and Dean pretended to focus on something above Cas’s head. “I see,” Cas said slowly, and Dean looked down to find him intently staring at him. Cas didn’t elaborate on what epiphany he seemed to have just now, but he continued, “I apologize for speaking over you, Dean.”

“’s okay,” Dean muttered.

“I’ll do my best to not do that next time you talk to your father.”

“Yeah, if there  _is_ a next time.”

“There will be,” Cas soothed gently.

Dean quietly soaked in the attention he was getting from Cas for a moment before he said, “Thanks for standing up for me back there.”

Cas wrapped his own arm around Dean to complete the half-hug. Dean closed his eyes against Cas’s head pressed against his chest, the weight of Cas on his heart every time he breathed.

Miraculously, Dean slept.

 

* * *

 

Dean woke up with a jolt, relaxing only when Cas’s arms gripped a little tighter around him in response. He squeezed his eyes shut, and wormed his way further into Cas’s arms, yearning for the comfort of company.

Cas let out a little content sigh. “Good morning,” his voice said against Dean’s cheek.

Dean grunted out a response.

“Dean,” Cas gently nudged, and Dean clung on.

“What the hell, man. You’re the one that usually never want to leave the bed,” Dean whined.

“We should get out of bed before your father barges in here and kick us out,” Cas replied. “I’d like to at least brush my teeth before we’re forced to leave, if it comes to it.”

Dean looked up, and stared. “Please tell me that was a joke.”

“That was a joke,” Cas agreed. “But we really should get out of bed.”

Dean huffed. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to be caught like this with your Shurley ass.”

“Who you love,” Cas pointed out. “Very, very much, according to you last night.”

“Ahh, shut up,” Dean groaned. “Oh, god, last night.”                                           

“Yes.” Cas gave him one last squeeze before gently releasing Dean out of his arms.

Dean had a cramp in his back from sleeping in such a weird position, with his legs tangled with Cas’s while backed up against the wall all curled up. He gave his body a stretch and checked his phone to find few messages from Sam, all of him fussing and worrying over Dean’s plans to tell John and Mary about everything. Dean texted back the updates of the situation, and headed downstairs.

It was still too early in the morning to be awake for most; John and Mary seemed to be in their rooms, still sleeping. Dean wanted to cook breakfast or go for a run or do  _something_ , but he couldn’t cook breakfast now not knowing when John and Mary would be awake, and it seemed like a bad idea to leave the house before he addressed things with John again. Still, he felt antsy all over having to wait it out until John was awake, and he didn’t want to stay inside this house anymore. He felt like a trapped animal, waiting to be sent to the slaughterhouse.

He turned on the TV with the mute on so as to not wake anyone else up, not really watching what was happening on screen (the caption read about some escaped prisoner over in California, and huh, Dean should probably tell Cas about that before he went back at the end of the summer). Now that he actually had the time to sit and think about last night, he realized he didn’t even know what he’d say to John when he  _was_  awake. The thought definitely didn’t help with the whole antsy-ness Dean had going.

Cas soon joined him in the living room after his shower, and perched on the couch alongside Dean—not enough for them to be touching, since they had the silent agreement of toning down the physical touching as much as possible right now, but enough that Dean could feel the warmth radiate from Cas.

Mary came downstairs soon, and greeted them both a good morning. They both hurried over to help her in the kitchen with the breakfast. The gaping hole that was John’s presence was glaringly obvious.

“Did you both sleep well?” Mary asked while she handed Cas a mug of coffee. When they murmured a response with their mouths full, she smiled. “How long were you planning on staying, honey?”

Dean swallowed his mouth full of food. “Figured we’d head out after this.”

Mary’s smile faltered. “Oh, so soon?”

Dean shrugged. He glanced at John’s absent chair, and Mary followed his eyes. Understanding dawned on her face, and Mary’s smile fell completely. “Dean.”

“Mom,” Dean whined. “I stayed last night, didn’t I?”

“Honey, he’s just—” Mary sighed. “Your father’s just sulking. At least see him before you leave?”

“Didn’t think he’d want to,” Dean muttered over a forkful of food.

Mary squeezed Dean’s arm. “Of course he wants to. This is important for both of you, and both of you can’t just leave it like this. He still loves you.”

As if on cue, footsteps echoed down the stairs to reveal John at the end of the staircase. Having noticed Dean and Cas still here, John’s lips thinned, but said nothing else.

“John,” Mary called. “Did you decide to join us for breakfast after all?”

“Mary,” John said, looking pained. Dean was surprised to watch a John who was less angry than he’d expected and more of his apologetic self when he knew he was fighting a losing battle against Mary. 

Mary bored at John. “There are still some bacon and pancakes left on the counter if you’d like,” she said, dabbing her mouth with a piece of paper towel.

“Cas,” Mary said over John clanking the dishes and the silverware around, motioning for Cas to her side. “Come grocery shopping with me? We forgot to pick some ingredients up for dinner, and I’d love your company.”

“Oh,” Cas shot a glance at Dean, to John’s back, then to Mary. “Yes. Of course, Mrs. Winchester. I’d be glad to help you.”

“It’s Mary,” corrected Mary, before she pulled Cas into the living room and out the door. Dean had to give it to her for the most unsubtle exit ever, along with Cas’s terrible stiff acting like he was reading lines right out of a script.

The door clicked behind Mary and Cas, and Dean was left in the silence with John, who seemed content on staring at the pancakes neatly stacked up on the dish. Dean himself stared at his own plate of unfinished food, his appetite suddenly gone. Neither of them moved.

John sighed then, the sound sending stones down Dean’s stomach. He shuffled over without a word, and Dean felt his face become hot as he listened to John’s movement—the fridge door opening, something clanking, a bottle opening.

So John was drinking again. And it was Dean’s fault.

Dean urged his ass to unplant itself from the kitchen chair so he can leave John and retreat to the temporary safety of his room. He got all the way to the kitchen door before he hovered awkwardly, aware of John sitting on the counter island and pointedly ignoring Dean in the favour of nursing the bottle.

The glass bottle clanked against the marble, and Dean allowed himself to look back to John’s hands before he went upstairs, which held a bottle of Coke.

Dean blinked at the sight.

“What?” John asked forcefully.

“What?” Dean startled himself into accidentally looking directly at John, who had the bottle of Coke halfway to his mouth. “Nothing. I just—thought, um, you were drinking.”

John glanced down at the bottle, then back to Dean. “Your mother really would kill me if I broke my sobriety.”

Dean nodded, and dumbly stood where he was, not really knowing what to do now. John didn’t seem to know any better either, so he went back to nursing the bottle of Coke in his hand. He didn’t even know John liked Coke.

After few sips, John sighed again, and Dean felt like the ground was shattering underneath him from the sound of the sigh alone. John pulled out the chair beside him. “Sit down, son.”

Dean silently took the invitation. He wished he had something in his hands like John did, so he at least had something to fiddle with during the awkward silence that followed after.

“Your mother tells me—” John tried to say, and Dean was startled at the break of the silence. John hesitated, and tried again. “It’s not… I don’t care who you choose to be with. Or, well, whichever the gender of the person is, well. Not my problem.”

Dean felt his cheeks warm up. “I—” he paused, and blinked. “Wait,  _really_?”

“Yes,” John said, a thin coat of frustration layered over. “I suppose your mother is right and I—should’ve told you that.”

“Oh.” Dean replied, too stunned to really say anything. “I thought that was… a big part of why you were mad.”

“What? No,” John turned in his chair now, his body facing Dean’s. “I… may have said some things last night, and I’m sorry, son.”

He paused, took a gulp of his coke, and continued. “If you like boys, then… you like boys. You’re still my son at the end of the day. Just, you know… don’t let me hear about it.”

“So you’re saying… don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“That came after me, but yeah.”

It wasn’t ideal, but it was a compromise Dean was more than willing to make when it came to John. “I can do that, definitely,” he said. He pursed his lips in contemplation, and went for it. If not now, then when else would he tell him? “But I’m bi, for the record.”

“You’re a what?”

“Bisexual,” Dean said again, with a little less confidence. “I still like women, too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So… if you’re cool with me liking dudes,” Dean hesitantly asked, “what’s your beef with me and Cas?”

John’s lips tightened. “Dean, his brother  _killed_  his father.”

“It’s not like  _Cas_  did it—”

“He comes from the same family, same household, same genes,” John responded sharply. “You honestly think he’s not going to be as messed up in the head as that brother of his? Not to mention the reputation his family has around here since that incident. You really think that’s not going to bring you down?”

“Not really, no,” Dean replied, squaring his shoulders.

John bristled where he sat like he was working up to another speech, and Dean braced himself for what was about to come.

What came instead was another heaved sigh, and John averting his gaze from Dean to the bottle in his hand.

“Why are you being so difficult about this, Dean?” he asked wearily. “I’ve told you countless times that I  _don’t like that boy._ I have a bad feeling about him, but all you do is not  _listen_ , like some ungrateful child that was raised underneath a bridge or something. And you’re  _not_. You’re a good son, and you’ve always been a good kid.”

Dean said nothing in reply. John continued. “You’re not a teenager anymore. You’re over the phase of making stupid mistakes, aren’t you?”

“This isn’t a  _mistake,_ ” Dean gritted. Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes. God, why all the waterworks anytime this came up? “Why can’t you just trust me and my goddamned decision for once in my life?”

John’s jaw locked tight, and Dean ignored the constant guilt pricking at the back of his mind. He fought all of his knee-jerk impulses to apologize to John for causing this storm, ingrained in him to back down any time John was upset because of him. Damn it, there were fights he needed to fight, and this had to be one of them. This _was_ one of them.

Before either of them could say any more, the doorbell rang, signalling Mary and Cas’s return. Dean and John both glanced at each other before Dean got up to get the door while John finished the last gulp of his drink. Dean silently thanked whoever was listening for Mary and Cas’s timing because he really wasn’t up for another scream fest with John right now, though he wondered why they were back so fast when they obviously left to give Dean and John some time to talk things out alone.

“Hey, back already—”

Instead of Mary and Cas, Dean found a man in a simple blue jacket and jeans standing on the Winchesters’ doorstep. Nobody he recognized, but maybe he was someone John and Mary knew. The man flashed a smile upon seeing him.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. Let’s talk inside,” the man replied.

“Uh. Right now’s not exactly a good time. Should I let my mom or dad know you dropped by? What’s your name?”

“I’m not here for them, Dean. I’m here for you.”

Dean straightened a little and studied the man a little more carefully this time. Cleanly shaved, clean shoes, and the car parked in their driveway was an unfamiliar one, but even from this distance he could see that the license plate clearly said the guy wasn’t from Kansas. “Do I know you?”

“Not personally,” the man replied with a smile, “but I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other before you tell me where my brother is.”

“Your brother?” Dean echoed.

“Castiel,” the man said. “The name might ring a bell or two in that noggin of yours.”

Even if Dean hadn’t seen Michael since high school, this guy looked nothing like him, unless Michael decided to dye his hair blonde and shrink few inches. The only other brothers Cas had were Gabriel and—

Dean slammed the door, only for Luke’s foot to be jammed in between. “You’re supposed to be in fucking  _prison.”_

“And you’re supposed to be with Castiel,” Luke replied coolly. “Where is he?”

“Like  _hell_  I’m telling you—”

“Dean,” Luke berated, “despite what other people might’ve said about me, I would never hurt you or Castiel.”

“Somehow I’m  _really_  not feeling that,” Dean grimaced as he struggled against Luke’s knee prying the door open. He was hell of a lot stronger than he looked.

“I just want to talk to him,” Luke said. “That’s not a crime, right?”

“It kind of really is when you break out of prison to do it.”

Luke sighed, like Dean was some kid who wouldn’t listen to him. “Look, Dean. I have a gun, so let’s not make a situation where I’m forced to use it.”

“Wha— _whoa_ , hey!”

Dean jumped back from the door by instinct at the sight of the gun inside Luke’s jacket flashed through the gap of the door, which Luke took as a chance to smoothly glide inside and lock the door behind him.

Dean eyed the gun warily, taking care to not make any sudden movements. “Take it easy.”

“I only ask for your cooperation, Dean.” Luke didn’t reach for the gun, and to Dean’s surprise, didn’t equip it. “Nothing else.”

Dean blinked as Luke looked around the house with a smile. Dean stayed still. “Nice place you’ve got. Or, I guess this is your parents’ place, huh? Is that the living room? Let’s go sit down.”

Dean stared at the man innocently standing in front him. “What the hell are you playing at?” Dean asked steadily.

“What is all that ruckus, Dean—” John did a double-take at the stranger in their foyer. “Who the hell are you?” then he noticed Dean’s hands up in the air. “What the hell is going on here?”

Luke spoke for him. “I have a gun. Right here,” he said, petting where his inner pocket was. “So let’s not try anything.”

John tensed immediately.

“John, I wouldn’t try anything if I were you,” Luke said. “I know you’re confident in your skills—what was it, Vietnam?—but let’s not bargain with your son’s life for the sake of your pride.”

John’s jaw tightened, but he put his hands up in the air as an obvious sign of surrender. Luke smiled. “Good,” he remarked. “Excellent.”

Dean and John both walked backwards as Luke herded them into the living room. It was when they were sitting down that Luke spoke. “I’m asking again, Dean. Where’s Castiel?”

John’s eyes jumped to Dean in surprise at the name drop. Dean didn’t even want to think about John’s acceptance level of Cas after this, if there  _was_  an ‘ _after this’._ “Don’t know,” Dean replied.

Luke looked down at him disapprovingly, and glanced over at John. “There’s a way both of us can be happy with the results, but I need your cooperation to get there, Dean.”

Dean knew he probably shouldn’t answer him, but he blurted, “What are you talking about?”

“I know you’ve been having enough problems with him, especially with recent… developments with Castiel,” Luke said. “I can get rid of him for you, if you can get me Castiel.”

Dean gaped. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Why the hell would I want my dad  _dead_?”

“Dean,” Luke chastised, and Dean somehow felt like the stupidest man on Earth for not getting it. “I understand that you’re trying to do the good thing here, and I admire that. But think about this long-term; he’s never going to approve of you or Castiel. He’ll continue to get in your way to be with him. A lifetime of problems solved with a pull of this trigger, and nobody would suspect you. Especially not with an escaped convict in your house.”

John shot Dean a panicked glance, as if Dean might actually  _agree_  to this pile of bullshit the guy was spouting. “No, okay, just  _calm_  down, alright?” Dean said. “Let’s put the gun down, and— _talk_ , like you wanted. Nobody needs to be shot around here—”

A ringing came from Dean’s pocket, and everyone’s attention focused on the noise.

“Who’s that?” Luke asked.

Dean shrugged, and Luke motioned for him to check. Dean prayed to every damn thing that might be listening to him for it to not be Cas as he slowly pulled his phone out.

It was Cas.

“Well?”

“It’s my brother,” Dean replied carefully. “Just checking up on me and stuff.”

Luke hummed. “Sam, in California?”

Dean gulped. And how the hell Luke knew about Sam, he didn’t even want to know.

“You can answer him,” Luke continued. “I’ll wait.”

Dean stared at Luke, and with a breath, answered the ringing thing. “Hello?”

“Dean!” Cas’s voice boomed into the phone, breathless for some reason. “Gabriel’s just informed me that  _Luke_ —”

“Yes, Sam, your brother is fine,” Dean replied. “I’m just, you know, peachy.”

Cas paused for a staggering second. “Dean?”

“Yeah, still hanging out at mom and dad’s,” Dean said. “I’m with dad right now. The company’s been great.”

“Fuck,” Cas breathed. “He’s already there.”

“Yeah.” He heard a murmur between Cas and who was probably Mary, and there was a roar of an engine. “He says he wants to talk to you soon. He, uh, misses you a lot after all that time.”

“I’m sure he does,” Cas muttered. There was a screech of tires in the background. “Mary is calling the police right now. Just—hold on, and  _don’t_ get yourself killed.”

Dean let out a humourless chuckle. “I’ll try, man, but I can’t guarantee it.” Dean glanced at Luke, who was casually leaning against the front doorframe.

Talking in their little codes was ages ago, but he hoped for dear life that Cas remembered most of them. “So hey, I was thinking about a vacation, get away from it all for a while.”

Luke was frowning at him. There was an agonizing pause before Cas confirmed with, “Where to?”

“Don’t know. I thought maybe some states up North?”

“He’s in front of you,” Cas decoded. “But why are you… How is this useful?”

“Yeah, and maybe I’ll finally get that thing for my kitchen,” Dean said, trying to not put too much emphasis on ‘kitchen’. Luke leaned away from doorway. “I’ve been looking around for it for for _ever_.”

“Kitchen,” Cas repeated uncertainly. “You’re in the kitchen?”

“No,” Dean replied, gripping onto his phone tightly.

“Give me the phone, Dean.”

“Yeah man, I wouldn’t mind the company. Feel free to come around any time.”

“Come around,” Cas echoed.

“Dean, give me the phone.”

“Kitchen… come around—You want us to come around through the kitchen because he’s in front of you.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Dean insisted, and Luke grabbed for the phone as Dean dodged. “Okay, I gotta go, but hopefully I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“Dean, I—”

The phone was yanked out of Dean’s hand, and he cried out in surprise as Luke impassively glanced at the caller ID, clearly showing exactly who Dean had been talking to the entire time. Luke shot Dean a scornful look—like someone looking at their pet dog after it had bitten them—and turned on the speaker phone. “Castiel.”

John stiffened at the corner of Dean’s eyes. There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Hello? Castiel?” Luke said again. “I know you’re there.”

“Luke,” Cas confirmed, his voice low and full of rage.

“What was all that about?”

“A private conversation, until you intervened.”

“Drop in for a visit, Cas. For old time’s sake.”

“Only if you let them go.”

Luke hummed with a cock of his head as he tapped his lips with his finger. “I forgot how… protective you get when it comes to the Winchesters.”

“What do you want from them?”

“A simple chat, with you,” Luke replied. He gave the conversation a pause before continuing. “I don’t understand why you’re so hostile towards me.”

“You really need to ask that?”

“You fought against Michael for what you thought was right,” Luke said, and this was something Dean had never known before, because… what? What did Cas even rebel for?

Silence, on Cas’s end.

“I only fought Michael with the same sentiment,” Luke continued. “We’re the same, you and I.”

“What do you want, Luke?” Cas asked, his voice strained.

“I just want to know about Michael,” Luke said. “You know where he is, right?”

The other end of the call went silent again. Dean held his breath, his fists clenched onto the couch.

“Castiel,” Luke called sweetly, “I can hear the cogs in that brain of yours turning.”

“How do I know you won’t hurt them after I tell you?”

Luke eyed Dean on the couch. “Relax, your boyfriend is fine. The sooner you give me what I need, the sooner I’ll leave him alone.”

“You may know how I think,” Cas growled back, “but the same can be said for me about you, Luke. I won’t talk until you leave that house.”

Luke closed his eyes with a sigh. When he opened his eyes, Dean felt like his entire body was tightening in on itself from fear. “Castiel, I’m getting irked with all this talk. Either you know it, or you don’t. If I find out that you’ve been wasting my time, then, well.” He sighed, like he was being forced to say it. “I’ll just have to do what I have to do.”

“No, you won’t,” Cas replied. “Gabriel will never be found unless he wants to be found, which leaves you with me as the only confidant to Michael’s location.” Dean had to wonder if Cas actually _did_ knowor if he was just really good at bullshitting when it came to life or death situations. “But if you even touch a hair on them, you will _never_ get what you want from me.”

“We’re at a stalemate then, aren’t we?” Luke said. “But you better make your decision quickly, Castiel. I happen to be with the perfect people I can blow off a little steam with.”

“You—”

Luke hung up and tossed the phone back at Dean. Jesus, and Dean thought _his_ family was dysfunctional. “Dean, I’m disappointed. I trusted you.”

“Yeah well, what’re you gonna do now, huh? Kill me?”

John shuffled in front of Dean then, a thunderous glare on his face. “Over _my_ dead body,” John growled.

“How touching,” Luke said. “But killing you wouldn’t do me any good, Dean. Why would I kill you? No,” he pulled a chair over and sat down in front of them, his arms slung over the backrest, “you’re going to be Castiel’s anchor from here on out, the noose around his neck. Don’t underestimate how important you are, Dean.”

Dean laughed harshly. “You don’t know that. Cas could be long gone by now.”

Luke smiled. “We both know that’s not true. Ah, loyalty,” he sighed admirably, “such a rare trait to see in this day and age.”

Dean glared at him, but offered nothing else in response. He just hoped the cops were hauling their asses over.

Luke didn’t talk after that. He sort of just… sat there, probably waiting for Cas. God knew what the hell was going on in his head, sitting there nonchalantly with his body perched beside the window and his hands neatly folded on his laps. He hummed to himself occasionally, filling the otherwise silent living room. The wait seemed to go on forever under the mind-numbing silence, only with Luke’s hums to drive Dean up the walls.

Luke was humming some sort of hymn for the fifth time when Dean noticed movement from the hallway. Dean eyed Luke, but he didn’t seem to notice anything. Few seconds later, Dean watched as Cas assessed the situation of the room from the hallway, hidden by the corner. He was holding something, but Dean couldn’t make out what it was.

What the fuck was he doing? Was he trying to get himself killed?

Luke turned then, and Dean caught a glimpse of Cas rushing to hide around the corner. “You’re both awfully quiet.”

“Yeah well, you try being the hostage with a gun pointed at you and let me know how that goes.”

Luke sighed. “It seems like repeating myself has no point for you. I don’t know what my brother sees in such a…” he wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Then again, Castiel always  _has_ been aloof when it came to you.”

Dean didn’t answer, but he knew he was unable to mask his curiosity fast enough. “Oh, Castiel never told you?” Luke looked at him with pity. “Michael was always against you hanging around him. Like an overzealous fly he said, if I remember right.”

Okay, yeah, sounded like Michael. At least that older brother never tried to kill Dean, and why hadn’t Cas ever told him about this before? “How the hell do you even know all that? Because if I got the timeline right, you were kind of busy being in prison at the time.”

Luke just shook his head—sort of a  _you’re lucky you’re pretty_ headshake—and went back to gazing out the window. Dean took this chance to glance back at Cas, who was holding what Dean realized was one of Mary’s iron frying pan set that John had gotten for one of her birthdays.

“Why’re you doing this anyway, huh?” Dean asked. Not having seen Cas, John shot him a daggered look as if to say  _this recently escaped prisoner has a gun on us and you want to ask him his_ motives _?_

Luke turned his focus back to Dean. “What do you mean?”

“Why’re you looking for Michael after all these years? This isn’t some sort of petty revenge plot you’ve got going on for being shoved into jail, is it?”

“Of course not,” Luke replied coolly. “This is divine retribution.”

“Divine retribution,” Dean echoed. “Really.”

“I don’t expect you to understand. Not many do,” Luke said, leaning against the chair. “But this  _is_ a surprise. I thought at least you’d understand, Dean.”

“Understand what?”

“Understand why I’m doing this,” Luke replied. “Think about it. I know you’re a smart man, Dean. I know you can figure it out.”

“How the hell would I—”

Dean made sure to not look over Luke’s shoulder to give Cas away. “Look, what you’re doing isn’t some righteous punishment on your brothers or whatever, okay? What you are is an overgrown child who can’t do jack shit without blackmailing his own brother.”

Luke’s face didn’t budge, but Dean felt so much colder than before. “Watch what you say, Dean. You’re not as special as you think you are.”

“Oh yeah? Thought you needed me for Cas to be here.”

“You think Castiel is the only one with this information? It’s only because he’s the easiest to handle with you around. If it wasn’t for you, I—”

A dull  _whack_  filled the room as Cas swung the frying pan at Luke’s head. Luke cried out, and toppled to the floor, his body lifeless. Cas’s arm that held the pan drooped to the side. For a second, Dean thought Cas was going to poke Luke with it, or worse, whack him again, but all he did was stare down at Luke’s motionless body with wide eyes.

“Is he,” Dean broke the silence, “is he dead?”

John stalked over to Luke and seized his arms, and flopped him over. He took the gun out of his pocket and dismantled it. “He’s breathing,” he said gruffly, which were all the words Cas seemed to need to snap out of whatever trance he was in.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Cas fussed, sounding like he _was_ going to whack Luke with a frying pan again if Dean had so much of a paper cut from him. His hands restlessly travelled down Dean’s shoulders and up his arms. He cupped his cheeks. “Did he do anything to you?”

“Cas, I’m fine,” said Dean, an attempt to calm Cas down by gripping him by the shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking barging in here like that?”

“I had to do _something_.”

“You could’ve been killed!”

“Luke wouldn’t kill me,” Cas replied flatly.

“Yeah, _really_ reassuring, Cas. Jesus fuck.” Dean shook his hands to get the buzzing out from underneath his skin. Cas caught his hands, and held them against his chest. Dean could feel the rapid heartbeat through Cas’s shirt.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” Cas said quietly. His hands squeezed Dean’s tighter. “If something had happened to you, I…”

Dean felt a pang in his chest, and intertwined their fingers together. “Hey, hey,” Dean said softly, leaning a little to catch Cas in the eyes. “I’m fine, see? Whole and alive, good as new. Besides, I can use this for that horror novel I was talking about yesterday.”

“Dean,” Cas reprimanded, and Dean grinned.

“I’m fine,” Dean reassured again. “Really.”

Cas nodded wordlessly. John cleared his throat.

“Uh,” Dean flushed. Right, John was here too. Now that he was paying more attention, John had somehow left the room without them noticing and come back with duck tape in his hand.

“Nevermind,” John grunted. He tied Luke’s arms and legs up with speed, and soon had him immobilized. Well, as immobilized as an unconscious guy could get. “Help me get him on the chair, Dean.”

The police cars strewed the Winchesters’ front lawn soon after they were done tying Luke up, police tapes wrapped all around to fence the area shut. Mary arrived on the scene, out of breath and furious at Cas for apparently having jumped out of the Impala to run into the house, leaving Mary behind a block away from the house. She gave him a good lengthy lecture for acting so recklessly, and it was sort of weird to watch Mary chastise Cas like one of her own, though the implication tickled Dean in a way.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Cas asked the police officer, who was hauling unconscious Luke into the back of an ambulance, duck tape underneath the strappings and all that.

The police explained that he couldn’t really share, only that Luke would probably be sent back to prison after they made sure he didn’t sustain any life-threatening damages. Cas nodded grimly, his face pale, and hovered over the ambulance until it left.

They were all still in the front yard, the area eerily quiet after all the hustle left with Luke in tow. Mary had one of her arms wrapped around John, and Cas had settled on staring at the patch of grass under his feet. Nobody said anything, until John broke the silence.

“Look at this, Dean,” he said with heat. “Look at the  _mess_  you’ve gotten  _all of_ us into.” John gestured all around him, and Dean briefly entertained the thought of John meaning their front lawn being ruined by the police car tracks rather than his boyfriend’s murderous older brother almost having killed both of them few minutes ago. “Do you  _finally_  see what I’ve been telling you? _”_

Cas glanced at John, and looked at Dean. “Your father has a point, Dean,” he said, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

Dean sharply turned to Cas. “The hell are you saying?”

“If it wasn’t for me, Luke would’ve never… I put your and your family’s life at risk.”

“You also saved our lives.”

“Which I wouldn’t have had to do if I wasn’t around,” Cas pointed out to the patch of grass.

“For once, we agree on something,” John snapped.

“No,” Dean replied curtly. John crossed his arms with a thundering frown, and Mary simply watched with a grim expression. “No,” Dean repeated more firmly. “Just—everybody stop saying things for a second. But—” he pointed at Cas. “Just. No, to everything you just said.”

Cas said nothing in reply.

Right. So. Dean was a writer, for God’s sake. Putting feelings into words was his specialty.

Who let him become a writer? God damn it.

“Look,” he started, because he had to start somewhere and that seemed like a good start, “this isn’t a matter of whether it was your fault or not. Which, it’s not, by the way.”

“Dean—”

“Things happening, other people doing shit to me because we happened to be in each other’s space got jack shit to do with you. You didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t excuse that I almost got you  _killed_.”

“No,  _Luke_  almost got me killed. And you know what, even if you think this  _is_  your fault for some reason, I don’t care.” Cas’s fingers twitched. Finally, Dean was getting somewhere with this. “I don’t, Cas. You're my best friend, man. If… I don’t know, if Sam turns out to be the antichrist in some weird alternative universe out there, you think I’d just up and leave him?”

Cas stared and stared at the ground before him. “No,” he muttered. “No, you would never abandon Sam.”

“No, I would not. Because above everything else, Sam is Sam. Just as how you’re you.” Cas shook his head slightly, out of disbelief maybe, and Dean grabbed his hands to make him take a real good look at him. Cas started at the motion and quickly looked away from Dean again, but didn’t throw his hands away.

“I’m sticking around for as long as you’ll have me,” Dean said. “That ain’t going to change no matter what. Same way as how the sky is blue, pi is an absolute number, how you’ll keep that ugly ass carpet of yours in the end. Cas, to me, you being in my life is fact. You can’t blame yourself for all of— _this_.”  

Cas opened his mouth, and closed it. He pursed his lips. “My carpet is not ugly,” he muttered.

Dean blinked. Count on Cas to point _that_ out of all the things he’d said, jesus. He glanced down just in time to see Cas’s bottom lip tremble slightly, and oh, maybe that wasn’t all he got out of it after all.

Cas finally looked back at Dean again. “I think I understand,” he said with a nod.

Dean didn’t know what sort of answer he was expecting, but it seemed to be the one he was waiting for after all, as his entire body slumped a little in relief and gave way to a natural smile. “Okay. Good.”

Unfortunately for him, this probably wasn’t the answer John had wanted in the slightest.

Dean heard John’s sigh, and he looked back at him to see Mary nudging at him on the back. “Talk to him,” she hissed, probably meaning to speak loud enough only for John’s ears. “Tell him what you just told me.”

“Okay, _alright_ ,” John hissed back, and sighed again, his fury from few minutes ago nowhere in sight. “Dean,” his voice cut through the front yard, and Dean straightened. “A word, now.” He glanced at Mary, who raised her eyebrows in some secret parents-only code. “Alone.”

Cas cast him a worried glance, and Dean shrugged in response, just as confused.

John led him back to their backyard, sitting himself on the bench that Mary had wanted for forever. Dean sat rigid beside him. John seemed… softer than he did moments ago when he was still yelling at Dean and Cas, and his hands were clasped in front of him, like he was trying to pray Dean’s feelings for Cas away or something. Dean laughed inwardly to himself at the mental image of John praying to  _any_  gods; who needed a god when they were so sure of themselves, when they believed in their own thoughts and actions more than anybody else’s in the world?

John sighed for the third time. He seemed to have come to some sort of a decision as he started with, “Thought I was going to die by some snot-nosed kid’s hands. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Dean said nothing in reply. Rather, he didn’t even know how he’d respond to that, so he just didn’t. John glanced at Dean for any sort of response, and when none were received, he continued, “You and Cas made a real good team back there.”

It was spoken so outright and matter-of-factly, Dean almost thought the words hadn’t come from John’s mouth. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“But it’s true that if he wasn’t here, we wouldn’t have even needed to get in a shithole of a situation like that,” John responded, though more calmly than before. “Right?”

Dean bristled. Not this shit again; wasn’t he there when they went over this two minutes ago? “Dad, this isn’t Cas’s fault—”

John shook his head. “I’m not pointing any fingers, Dean. But I  _am_  saying, it’s true that if it wasn’t for him and you being involved with him, that blonde kid wouldn’t have been barging into my house with a gun pointed at your head.”

Dean tightened his lips. He wished he could stare a hole through the lawn in between his feet. They were cut neatly; John probably ran the lawnmower few days ago. It was ridiculous how perfectly green and in order John kept his lawns, and right now, Dean hated it more than anything else. “I guess,” he mumbled.

John’s jaw tightened, and he looked in front of him. “And you still want to be with that kid? With that Castiel of yours?”

Dean took a moment to decipher that, and sat up a little straighter. “What?”

“After all that danger, after almost getting us killed, you still want to be with him?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Yeah, ‘course I do. Next to you guys and Bobby, he’s…” Dean searched for the word. One word to sum what Cas was to him, the word that was at the tip of his tongue all this time. “He’s family.”

John stared, and sort of nodded to look towards the ground as he sighed. The next few minutes of silence stretched on as Dean’s heart beat away in his chest, his fists clenched tight as his hopes climbed and climbed.

John straightened. “Did I ever tell you about your mother’s father and me?”

Dean blinked. “Uh. You mean Grandpa Campbell?” John nodded. “What about him?”

“Don’t tell your mother I told you this,” John said, looking towards the sun setting in the horizon, “but he was against us marrying. Wouldn’t even let me visit her sometimes, when he had his ways.”

Dean blinked some more. He knew John and Samuel were always clashing swords during family gatherings, but he never knew about this before. “Why?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

Thankfully, John seemed to be in a sharing mood. He huffed. “Didn’t want to give his daughter away to someone like me. I begged him and told him I’d take good care of her, told him how much I love your mother and the old man never budged an inch. He said I’d never be able to take care of her. You know what happened in the end?”

“What?”

John smiled. “Your mother went absolutely ballistic after she found out. Told him that it wasn’t in his right to give her away because he doesn’t own her, that it was her choice to choose, even if it’s the wrong choice in his eyes. She said it wasn’t my job to take care of her, instead we take care of each other because that’s what a marriage should be.” John chuckled. “Then she marched into my house right after and told me that if I think I needed her father’s consent for her hand in marriage, then I can marry him instead.”

Dean smiled too, unable to hide it. His mom was truly awesome. “What happened after?”

“What do you think happened? We crawled back to her and apologized for being a bunch of idiots, because she was right; who were we to say what she can or can’t do? It’s her life. It’s her choice. Even if it might’ve been a wrong one to other people, if she was happy with it in the end, then… She was happy with it.”

John turned to Dean. “You’re a lot like your mother. So sure of your choices, I wonder where the confidence comes from sometimes.” John looked back towards the horizon again. “But you were never like this before. Always doing what I told you to do, always doing what’s best for everyone else in the end. That boy makes you selfish. Makes you want things for yourself and fight for them.” John turned back to Dean. “But maybe that’s not such a bad look on you.”

Dean gulped. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to cry.

John sighed. “I’m just worried about you, son.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not going to sugarcoat it, I still don’t care for that boy.”

Dean nodded. “I know.”

“But he’s still worth it?” John asked, and Dean held his head up to look at John in the face. “You think this isn’t going to be a mistake?”

Dean shook his head.

John nodded, and huffed. “Seeing that kid wielding your mother’s frying pan, maybe you’re right.”

Dean grinned, and without much thought, he reached out and hugged John. Taken by surprise, John stiffened, but firmly patted Dean on the back. “Thanks, dad,” Dean said.

“I still don’t accept him,” John replied gruffly. “I’m still going to keep my eyes out, and if he ever does anything to hurt you, I swear—”

“Okay, alright old man,” Dean replied with a chuckle, wiping away a good amount of tears. “We’re good?”

John did a sort of lop-sided half incredulous smile, like he couldn’t believe himself for how everything turned out in the end. “Yeah. For now.”

Dean was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

 

* * *

 

“Well,” Dean said as he climbed into the driver seat, “that was the most fucking exhausting weekend of my life.”

“Understatement.” Cas was resting his head against the glove compartment, his arms limp. Possibly from all the food Mary had prepared before they left, or from simple exhaustion, Dean didn’t know.

“You alright?”

Cas craned his neck just enough to be able to see Dean. The look in his eyes was something else, shifting from a flash of annoyed _seriously?_ look to more of his usual tuned-out soul-searching look.

“What?” Dean asked. “Cas?”

Cas only stared and stared without offering an explanation. He stayed that way long enough for Dean to wonder if he’ll be complaining about the weird kink in his neck all the way back home, or if there was something on his face. “Nothing,” he finally replied, his eyes still on Dean but now content with whatever he saw. “I’m fine now, I think.” He made no effort to move.

Dean wondered. He never knew exactly how close Cas was with Luke—maybe because Dean was a clueless friend, maybe because Cas wanted it that way—but Dean knew enough. Maybe it was something he was better off not knowing for now. And, well, even if Luke had tried to kill him yesterday, Dean could find enough decency in him to sympathize with Cas, not to mention the whole Michael thing (he would definitely have to ask about that later). For now, he wanted to say something, anything, to make things just a little better, but he had no words to offer.

Dean sighed, feeling the rest of his anger towards Luke drain out of him along with it. In the end, he just wanted Cas to be okay. “You’ll let me know if anything’s wrong, right, Cas?”

Cas blinked, and his lips twitched into a smile, a fond look melting into his expression. The sight gave Dean some relief. “Yes, Dean. Of course.”

Dean nodded, satisfied. “Okay. As long as you know.”

“I know, Dean,” Cas said over the roar of the Impala. He slowly made his way back up, and leaned against the backrest. He rested his hand against Dean’s thigh. “Thank you.”

Dean took Cas’s hand and squeezed as he drove out of the Winchesters’ driveway. At some point Dean turned to Cas to say something only to find him sleeping soundly, his hand still holding Dean’s.

They held onto each other the entire way back.

 

* * *

 

Later, Cas would find out through Gabriel that he’d actually hit Luke hard enough so Luke conveniently had no recollection of anything prior to his escape. The case was ultimately ruled out as self-defence for Cas, and Luke was sent back into prison. Dean received an unnecessarily fancy fruit basket from Michael some time after, adorned with a polite apology note mixed in with some vaguely threatening comment to never speak of the incident (Dean threw out the note, but the pineapple definitely went to good use). The Shurleys made sure that such an incident never happened again.

For now, Dean was on the verge of getting his ass kicked for waking Cas up. “What was I supposed to do, leave you to starve in my bed?”

“If that’s what it took to let me sleep in, then yes,” Cas said menacingly, except it wasn’t menacing at all since he was yawning at least half of that sentence.

“You don’t scare me.”

“I don’t ca _aa_ —re,” Cas said, muffling another yawn.

“Jesus, you really are tired.” Dean handed him a cup of coffee, which Cas clung onto. “I made waffles.”

Cas made some noncommittal noise and decided to bury his face between Dean’s shoulder and neck instead of helping. He stayed that way the entire time Dean scooped up the food onto their plate and set up the table. Only when Dean sat down did Cas also sit, and buried his face in between his arms with a groan.

“Did nobody ever teach you table manners?” Dean said, tempted to poke Cas’s side with his fork, but wisely decided against it.  _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_ , et cetera et cetera.

Cas seemed to gain more consciousness as they ate, at least. It’d been two days since they came stumbling back from Mary and John’s, both of them practically knocked down and too drained to do anything, Cas more so than Dean.

Dean was thinking about how Charlie and Dorothy were doing and how he should probably update her on, well, everything, when Cas put his fork down, staring at the corner of the table. Upon noticing this, Dean swallowed the bite he was chewing. “What?”

“We need to talk,” Cas said.

Dean blinked. “Okay.”

“About us,” Cas said, his eyes wide and earnest.

Dean frowned and put his own fork down. “What about us?”

“I want us to move in together.”

Uh.

Holy shit.

“I—how long have you been thinking about this, exactly?”

“Uh,” Cas stilled completely, rigid where he sat. “For a while. I mean,” he fidgeted with his fork, “obviously this is just a suggestion, and you won’t need to reply right away. I thought, since you can write from anywhere anyway, and I have a house rather than an apartment so maybe you could move to California, and you'd be closer to Sam as well—”

“And you’re—you’d want to live with me?”

Cas frowned. “Yes. It’s why I suggested it.”

“But.”  _Yes, fucking YES_ shut up, shut up. “What if we’re moving too fast?”

Cas’s shoulders faltered. “I… I just didn’t want to be away from you three-quarters of a year. I thought maybe you felt the same.”

“But. I mean.” Dean waved his hands around desperately. “This is a big step, Cas. A  _huge_  one, for both of us. What if—I don’t know—” he licked his lips, “what if you regret it?”

As soon as the question was thrown out, Dean regretted it. Almost. No matter how long Cas had known him, Dean still couldn’t get used to feeling so open and vulnerable in front of someone.

“Dean,” Cas said quietly, and Dean stiffened to attention, “what you said about us, about me being in your life being fact… The sentiment is the same.” Then, as if that wasn’t enough love declaration for the entire month, Cas continued, “I would never regret being with you, Dean.”

“Oh.”

This was… This was happening. Shit. Cas was staring at him earnestly, trying to be patient for his answer but obviously distressed because for some reason, he thought Dean might say no.

Living with Cas. Making a home with Cas. Holy  _shit_.

Dean hummed, rubbing his chin. “I’m a terrible roommate, F.Y.I. Sam’s words, not mine.”

Cas perked up.

“This is your last chance to take your words back,” Dean continued. “Otherwise, you’re stuck with me.”

A smile crept up to Cas’s lips. He pretended to think about it, and nodded seriously. “You’re right. Maybe I should’ve consulted Sam about this before asking you first.”

“Wow, that is—that’s just rude. Too bad I’m taking away your last chance to back out now, because of how  _rude_ you are _._ ”

Cas grinned. “I suppose I’m stuck with you, then.”

Dean grinned back. “Guess so.”


	12. Epilogue

She sipped her latte, and hummed. Dean gulped.

“It wasn’t bad,” Bela started slowly, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “I think we can work with it.”

“Okay, that’s—that’s awesome. I know the story’s still pretty rough but this is all first draft stage right now, so.”

Bela nodded. “So what was the problem you wanted to discuss?”

Dean stopped jiggling his foot. “Right. Um.” He took his notebook out, and skimmed over his notes. “So, you know how Jay’s main conflict…”

By the time they were done discussing, Dean’s iced coffee had gone lukewarm. Dean’s stomach rumbled; he didn’t get a chance to grab breakfast, no thanks to Cas.

“Put that way, I think you can make it work,” Bela said at last, putting her pen back into her pocket.

Dean stared at the new footnotes they’d scribbled next to his notes. A year of his grief seemingly solved and neatly outlined right before his eyes. Having Bela as his editor was one of the best things to have ever happened to him, seriously. “Holy shit Bela, you’re a fucking genius.”

She huffed. “Such a flatterer.”

“Seriously. You’re awesome.”

“I’m the best.”

“Hell yeah you are.”

“And you’re sure about your decision?”

“About?”

“Keeping both of them male,” Bela replied. “You could potentially lose a lot of readers and gain a lot of backlash.”

Dean thought back to the engaged couple he met at the bookstore; it seemed so much longer than almost two years that the meeting happened. He hoped they were doing well. He shrugged. “They can deal. I don’t want assholes as my demographic, anyway.”

Bela hid it like a pro, but that was definitely a flash of smile he saw on her face. “That’s that, then.”

Dean gathered up all the papers and stuffed them back into his bag. Bela watched with her hand tucked under her chin. “What?”

“You alright?” Bela asked, and Dean raised his eyebrows in question. “About tomorrow, I mean?”

Oh. “I guess so. I feel fine,” Dean said. Bela eyed him dubiously. “Seriously.”

“I’ve known you for years, Dean, and I know that look,” she replied, taking her reading glasses off. Dean made a face at her, and she huffed. “Nevermind, then. How’s Cas about it?”

“I don’t know. He says he’s fine, but I don’t know if he’s just saying that to make me feel better. How’s Hannah?”

“A delight, as usual,” Bela replied. To this day, Dean still wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic half the time she talked about her. “She’s asked me to tell you to tell Cas to contact her.”

“They work in the same school.”

“I know.”

“What are we, their pigeons?”

Bela smiled. “She does love pigeons.”

Dean wrinkled his nose. “You guys are worse than me and Cas, and that’s saying something.”

“I think you’re underestimating just how disgusting you two can be within each other’s vicinity.”

“Yeah, but at least we admit it.” Dean stood up. “Thanks for coming all the way out here.”

“Anything for our favourite author.” She paused. "And I  _was_ in the area."

“You sure you didn't just wanted an excuse to visit Michigan?

"Why would I want to do that?"

"I don't know. I heard Kellogg's headquarters is somewhere around here.”

“I personally prefer Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”

“You would.”

They quickly went over the date and time of their next meeting. “By the way, have you thought of a title for this yet?” she asked.

“Uh, sort of. Not really.” Bela shot him a look. “Titles are hard!” he whined.

“Think on one.” Her eyes peered at Dean again. “You sure you’re alright?”

Dean waved her concern aside. “I’ll see you next time.”

Bela hummed, and smiled. “If you need an excuse to leave, you have my number.”

Dean snorted. “Like I’m going to run.”

Still, he took note. Just in case.

 

* * *

 

Dean found Cas lying around on their bed in nothing but a white bathrobe, watching whatever crappy daytime telenovela the hotel provided while he munched on something. “What are you eating?”

“A granola bar, from the breakfast bar this morning,” he replied, rolling to his back and revealing his thigh. Jeez, now Dean was hungry in a whole different way. But no, he won't let the sight of Cas's naked thigh peeking out get to him. He _will_ have his revenge somehow; this was all probably Cas's ploy to distract Dean from thinking about what Cas pulled this morning. “How did it go?”

“Fine. Bela helped me figure shit out so I think I can manage it now.”

Cas smiled. “That’s great.”

“She told me to tell you that Hannah says she wants to talk.”

“Noted.”

Dean stripped off his bag and tossed it to the corner with a chair. “Were you in here all day?”

Cas looked down at himself and looked back up. “Take a guess.”

“Smartass. So you didn’t have lunch yet?”

“I was waiting for you,” he replied, and wasn’t that heartwarming. “I figured you would be hungry.”

Dean glared at the jab, and Cas smirked in response. “I was starving the entire meeting,” Dean said with narrowed eyes. “I thought I was going to pass out.”

“Dean, don’t be mad.”

“A man without his breakfast is nothing.”

Cas squinted. “I don’t think that’s—”

“I’m going to lunch.”

“I’ll join you.”

“Right now,” said Dean, and walked out.

Dean stood in the hallway and smiled to himself as a small ‘thump’ echoed from the room, and the door burst open to yank Dean back inside, probably scaring the kids that were playing by the elevator with the slam of the door.

“You did that on purpose,” Cas hissed.

Dean looked up and down at Cas’s robed figure, and grinned. “Take a guess.”

Cas rolled his eyes and let Dean’s shirt go with a pout. “I suppose I should take this to mean blowjobs aren’t welcome in the morning anymore.”

“Only when you’re _purposely_ trying to make me late to my meetings.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cas replied innocently.

“Yeah, sure you don’t.”

They ended up ordering pizza in the end. It was nice; it’d been a while since they had outside food, but Dean also missed his own garlic bread back home.

There was way too much food present by the end of Dean’s fifth slice of pizza (he really hoped he’ll still fit into his suit tomorrow). Granted, it might’ve been because Cas’s piece of pizza went limp in his hand as he stared at the wall in front of him without eating, going into one of his deep-in-thought modes.

Dean chewed thoroughly, and swallowed his bite. “What?”

Cas blinked. “What?”

“You got your serious thinking face on. What is it?”

“Ah.” Cas blinked again, like doing that will dispel the seriousness of his frown. “Will you really be alright tomorrow? At the wedding?”

“Well, I don’t exactly expect this to be a walk in the park. It’s going to be awkward as hell.”

Cas shifted closer to Dean, nudging the pizza box on Dean’s legs. “I’ll be there with you the whole time.”

“I know.”

Cas leaned in and kissed him then, tasting like pepperoni and pineapples because Cas just had to be one of _those_ people that loved pineapples on pizza. And god, Dean still loved him, couldn’t believe his luck that Cas loved him back the way he did. 

Dean wiped his greasy hand off, and squeezed Cas’s knee. “Thanks, Cas.”

“For what?”

“For—everything. For being here. For being you. You know.”

Cas smiled. “I love you too, Dean.”

Dean broke into a sheepish grin, his face heating up at the simple declaration. It’d been over a year, but the completely pure, sincere way Cas said it still weirded him out on some days. He pushed at Cas’s shoulder because that was obviously called for. “Shut up. Eat your disgusting pizza.”

“My disgusting pizza still taste better than your sausage-fest on dough called pizza.”

“Wow, d’you talk to your students with that mouth?”

“Usually, yes,” said Cas, as he snagged a piece of sausage off of Dean’s slice.

“Hey!”

“You weren’t eating it.”

“I was _so_ eating it, asshat,” Dean said, and lunged to take a bite out of Cas’s slice in his hand, causing Cas to shriek in the most undignified way Dean had ever heard. Dean immediately regretted taking the revenge bite, way too sweet and needle-y and gross for what was _supposed_ to be pizza, ugh.

Cas laughed at Dean’s face, and Dean probably would’ve knocked the pizza slice right off Cas’s hand seeing how defenseless he currently was, but they were on their bed and he didn’t want to get pizza sauce all over the sheets, so there went that revenge plan.

And, well. Sure, Dean was a ball of nerves about tomorrow, but knowing Cas would be with him made things indefinitely more relieving. Maybe he was just overcomplicating things in his head again—there was a wedding tomorrow, Dean was going to be there, Cas was going to be with him, and there was going to be few people they both knew which could go potentially awful, but also potential okay. Simple.

 

* * *

 

Dean stared up at the church from inside Baby, and tugged at his tie. "Cas."

"Dean."

"What the hell was I thinking with this wedding?" Dean tugged at his tie again. Fuck, how tight did he exactly tie this thing? 

Cas gently stopped Dean from choking himself to death before the wedding started, and redid his tie. "You'll be fine."

Dean let out a hysterical laugh at that. Cas shot him a disapproving look. "We can leave any time you wish, Dean."

Right, right, okay, yeah, that was a thing. He took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. "How did you end up with someone like me?"

"As you say, definitely for your perky nipples."

Dean lightly punched him on the arm for that, and Cas laughed. Dean held Cas's hand firmly as they walked into the church, and readied himself for the ceremony.

Lisa was beautiful.

The ceremony itself wasn’t too long, thank god. Lisa and Matt’s vows were touching, and Dean could hear few sniffling among the crowd, the sound lost by the declaration of husband and wife, and lots of cheering. _Lots_ of cheering. The lady beside him was particularly loud, her shrill cheers piercing Dean’s brain, keeping him from thinking of anything else.

There was a shit ton of confetti at the reception. Cas helpfully picked some off of Dean’s hair while Dean brushed them off of Cas’s shoulders, and just as Cas moved away, his eyes locked with Lisa who was across the room few tables over. Before he could think of an appropriate gesture—did he wave? Smile? What exactly did you do when you went to your ex’s wedding and you hadn’t talked to her for years?—Cas nudged him back to attention. Oh, someone had been trying to talk to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that,” Dean said to the woman sitting across from him.

She laughed. “I said, how do you know Lisa, Dean?”

“Oh. Uh,” Dean smiled tightly. “We went to high school together.”

“Oh,” she blinked. “She’s never mentioned you before.”

Well, that was a completely unsurprising piece of info. Dean shrugged, since he didn’t even know how he’d respond to that. _Lisa and I dated for a while but things just sort of fell apart because of my giant crush on my current boyfriend, but for some reason she still decided to invite me to her wedding after not talking to each other since high school. Hilariously enough, the groom is the guy she cheated on me with back when we were still dating. Slap me silly and call me Sally, am I right?_ Yeah, no.

The woman that was questioning him let out a cheer at seeing someone standing behind Dean. “Congrats, newlywed! How’re you feeling?”

A low laugh ran beside Dean’s ear. “Pretty great. Hey, Dean?” Dean jerked his eyes up to find Matt hovering over him. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Dean exchanged a brief puzzled glance with Cas. “Yeah. Sure, man.”

Matt led him outside the hall to the secluded stairwell. He seemed tense, which tensed Dean up for some reason. It couldn’t be that Lisa invited him without telling Matt, right? Matt was a pretty chill guy as far as Dean remembered, but it wasn’t like Dean had ever dated the guy. Who knew how possessive he was?

“Hey,” Matt started. “So you actually made it.”

Okay, there went that theory out the window. “Yeah, guess so.”

“Haven’t seen you since high school, huh? What’ve you been up to?”

“Um.” There was still no way Matt brought him all the way out here in the middle of his wedding for small talks. “What do you want, Matt?”

Matt laughed quietly with a shrug. “I don’t know. Just…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve got to talk to Lisa.”

Dean blinked. “Huh?”

“I get the feeling she wants to chat with you, but she’s a bit… nervous?” He paused to study Dean’s reaction, and continued. “She doesn’t know I’m doing this, so don’t tell her I asked you to.”

“Um.” Dean’s brain whirled at thousand rpm for a proper response. “What?”

“Please?”

Dean opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. “No, yeah, 'course, man. I’m just… surprised, I guess. It’s not like I was going to leave without saying a word to her.”

Matt smiled brightly. “Cool. Thanks, man.”

“What does she want to talk about, anyway?”

Matt shrugged. “That’s between you and her, right?”

“I… I guess so.” Scratch Matt possibly being possessive; he was basically the best husband material of the year.

They walked back to the hall together. “Hey, thanks for coming by the way,” Matt said before they entered. “It means a lot to her, and it's good to see you again, Dean.”

“Yeah. Congratulations,” Dean replied. “You guys are real lucky to have each other.”

Matt grinned. They nodded goodbye, and Dean quickly found Cas again among the crowd, talking with someone.

“Oh,” said Anna, upon noticing Dean. Well, she was probably Anna, seeing that she looked like Anna even if she was years older than the Anna in Dean’s memories. Besides, she was talking to Cas with the sort of familiarity only few people had with him. “Long time no talk, Dean.”

“S’up.”

“I won’t lie, I’m surprised to see you here,” she replied. “I didn’t think you would actually come when she told me.”

Dean spread his arms out to say, ‘well, here I am’. Soon after that, Cas and Anna were neck deep in a serious conversation, enough that Dean was about to crack out a joke about being the third wheel when he spotted Lisa nearby. Well, now or never, he supposed. He took a deep breath and gave Cas a brief touch on the wrist to let him know he was going, and headed her way.

She was with a kid—Dean was pretty sure he was the ring-bearer kid from the ceremony—when she spotted him walking over to her, also probably gearing herself up for the upcoming conversation. Dean tried to smile, but his face muscles refused to cooperate with him. Damn bastards never did what he asked them to do.

“Hey,” Dean yelled over the booming music.

“Hi,” Lisa replied with a small, tight smile. “You made it.”

“Yep.”

She introduced him to the kid—Ben—and Dean glanced around for a more secluded table. “Let’s maybe move away from the loud ass speakers.”

Lisa nodded. “Ben, if Matt looks for me, could you tell him I’m talking to Dean? He’ll know what you mean.”

Ben eyed Dean dubiously, but nodded. The music was still loud where they relocated to, but at least they could hear each other without yelling right into their ears. Dean sipped at his cup of water, Matt’s words echoing in his head. He got them up to this point, so what now?

“So,” Dean prompted, “who’s the Ben kid? Your cousin?”

Lisa smiled with a shake of her head. “He’s my son.”

“Oh.” he glanced back at Ben, at least eleven years old. Huh.

“Yep.”

It was—awkward. Dean was beginning to find out that after all the years of wondering what he’d ever say to Lisa if he met her again, he had nothing. Silence stretched over them, and Dean wondered what he thought he’d be getting out of this meeting or how he’d even bring things up. Because, well, that was all in the past, right? They were teenagers. And well, the way both of them went about it was pretty damn stupid alright, but it wasn’t like either of them fell out of love out of spite.

Yeah. He should probably say all that out loud. He couldn’t really work himself up to bring it up though; it was probably the only subject on either of their minds right now, but wouldn’t it be considered tacky of him to bring up the fact—at her wedding, no less—that they used to date and they both screwed that one up majorly all the way to Sunday school? Probably, but damn it, there had to be some way to say all that without sounding like an ass.

“I’m sorry,” Lisa said then, and he supposed letting her take the rein to this conversation was one way to do it. There was suddenly a lump in Dean’s chest, because it sounded like they were going to talk about that after all and Dean was a lot less ready for this conversation than he thought he was. “I meant to tell you about Matt and me back when we were… Back in high school, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. My friends—they just… caught me by surprise, I guess. I didn’t know you were watching at the time until later.”

Dean shrugged. “I’m sorry I never told you about Cas.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “So I was right?”

Dean nodded.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Dean fiddled with the napkin in front of him. “I’m sorry I was such a shitty boyfriend. I should’ve just told you, but I was too chickenshit to admit it even to myself.”

“What? Dean, I should be the one apologizing here, not you,” Lisa laughed.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t just your fault that it didn’t work between us.”

Lisa studied him with a strange smile. “You’ve changed.”

“I hope so. Past me was a douche.”

“No, you weren’t. You were so sweet and caring,” she said, still with the smile, leaning on her palm. “You still are, but… You’ve become, I don’t know. Softer. Easier to talk to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s nice.” She eyed the crowd with a coy look. “Does it have anything to do with the plus one you’ve brought?”

“Who, Cas?”

She blinked. “That’s _Cas_? Oh, oh wow. How long…?”

“Oh,” Dean laughed, “ _that’s_ more recent than you think. It’s only been a little over a year.”

“Oh. Huh.”

“Says you, Mrs. married-my-high-school-sweetheart,” Dean grinned.

Lisa laughed. “Oh, no, we broke it off right after graduation. We were pretty far from each other, and we didn’t think we could handle the distance.”

“That’s fair.”

They caught up, and it was… a lot easier. The overall awkwardness from seeing each other after so many years was still hovering over them, but things between them were going far, far better than what Dean had even dared to hope for.

Their conversation died down, and the silence that settled between them was a comfortable one, for once. The crowd was doing the Macarena—it felt like prom all over again, except they were all old as balls, and there were a lot more drunk aunts and uncles present.  

“I did love you, you know,” Dean said.

Lisa looked at him with wide eyes. She blinked once, twice, and wore a small smile. “Me too.”

They sat there, loud music booming in the background while they smiled at each other, all the regret, guilt, and words that weren’t spoken over the years behind them now. It felt like a cleansing; finally a completed chapter after being left unfinished for so long, and a step towards their own new lives.

“Thanks for coming today,” Lisa said. “I really appreciate it, Dean. I mean it.”

“Yeah,” replied Dean. “Thanks for the invite. You and Matt and Ben… I hope you’ll be happy together.”

“We are,” Lisa smiled. “We will be. I hope the same for you and Cas.”

Dean’s eyes happened to land on Cas just then; he wanted to look away from Cas dancing—he was proving himself to be an absolutely _terrible_ dancer, and the second-hand embarrassment alone was probably enough to off the weak-minded. He wished Anna would stop him, but she seemed to be taking pictures at the side.

Dean smiled back at Lisa. “Yeah. I think we are, too.”

They joined the rest of the crowd on the dance floor after that, and danced the night away.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, dad.”

“Hey, son,” John’s voice replied. “Back home already?”

“Yeah, we just got back last night.”

“Whose wedding was it again?”

“Lisa, dad. You know, the girl I was dating in high school?”

“Oh, right right. _Lisa_.” Dean rolled his eyes. He knew that tone. “She was such a good fit for you. What a loss, eh?”

“Yeah, too bad I’m already dating the most _perfect_ guy in the world.”

John groaned. “Yeah, yeah.”

Dean grinned. Damn right; at least John knew a lost fight when he heard one.

There was a knock on the door, and Dean frowned. They weren’t expecting anyone as far as Dean knew. “I gotta go, dad.”

“Alright,” John replied, and paused. “Tell _him_ I said hi, I guess.”

“Will do.”

Dean looked through their peephole find Chuck’s usual nervous face hovering over the door, and let out a breath of relief. He opened the door. “Hey, Chuck.”

Chuck perked up to attention. “Hey, Dean.”

“Dude, I swear if this is about your book again—”

“Oh, um, I’m not here for writing advice this time,” Chuck replied. He bit his lips and shrugged. “Well, not exactly. Sort of.”

“Chuck.”

“You know these things so much better than I do!” he whined, and Dean rolled his eyes. “Who else would I go to, other than my— _awesome_ writing neighbour buddy who’s as famous as Nicholas Sparks, huh?”

Dean rolled his eyes again. “I’m pretty sure me and Sparks are big names only because we’re dude romcom writers. There’s so many other female writers in the genre who write better than both of us combined.”

“You’ve been talking to Dorothy again, haven’t you?”

“She might deflate my ego, but at least she raises some damn good points.” Dean crossed his arms. “What did you want again?”

“Oh, right.” Chuck fidgeted on his feet. “So you know how my two characters go on road trips everywhere?”

Dean nodded. Dean and Sal Harrison, if he recalled right (“And before you get weirded out, they’re named after Dean Moriarty and Sal Paradise,” Chuck had said quickly. Dean had approved).

“Well, I’ve been trying to decide on a car for them,” Chuck said slowly, “and I was thinking maybe a ’65 Mustang. I know you like cars, so… what do you think?”

“What was the point of them road tripping again?”

“They hunt down monsters, kind of like exorcists but more brute and muscle-y and less, you know, occult-y,” Chuck replied. “They kill the monster, save some clueless civilians. I thought a classic, American muscle car would be pretty cool.”

“I guess so.” Dean eyed Baby parked on their driveway, all in her black shiny glory. “What about her?”

“Huh?” Chuck turned around to see what Dean was talking about. “What, _your_ car?”

“Yeah, man, why not? 327 four barrels, 275 horses, and a big ass trunk in case they need to take care of a corpse.” Dean grinned. “You said these guys are hunters, didn’t you?”

“I mean, that’s not their exact title but—”

“Sounds like you want them to be a pretty mean sight to people who don’t know what’s going down, right? If you want a car people lock their doors to when they stop next to them at the light, then she’s the one you want.”

Chuck seemed to consider this with a frown. “Huh. You really think so?”

Dean shrugged. “You wanted my opinion, there it is.”

Chuck nodded, and fumbled for a pen out of his jacket. “What was that about horses and barrels again? Do you have paper on you? And can you slow down this time?”

Chuck asked questions and scribbled things down furiously as Dean talked. About half an hour of it, and Cas came around with a ladle in his hand.

“Oh, hey, Cas,” Chuck said with a nervous laugh.

“Hello, Chuck,” Cas nodded, and turned his attention back to Dean. “Dinner soon,” he warned.

“Oh, damn. Already?”

“Yes.” Cas raised his eyebrow at Chuck. “Don’t keep him too long. I need him back.”

“Yeah, ‘course buddy,” Chuck jittered at Cas’s already turning back, “you got it, pal. He’ll be right with you in like, less longer than you can blink.”

After Cas was completely out of sight, Dean raised his eyebrows in question. “’Less longer than you can blink?’”

Chuck pursed his lips with a shrug. “He's always made me nervous. It’s like he’s on another plane of existence altogether.”

“Uh huh,” Dean replied. He supposed he sort of saw what he was talking about (even though he was pretty sure Cas was just joking), but Chuck was still pretty weird. “Anyway, you heard the man. Catch up later, Chuck.”

They had spaghetti for dinner, their talks mostly about Cas’s upcoming seminar and Dean’s book signing next week. There was some piano and guitar practice after that; they’d been trying to learn a new song recently, and they sucked ass, to put it generously. They had a sort of routine now, have had it for a while, and everything about their life was so fucking domestic; someone could've told him they were living a scene right out of his own cheesy-ass novels, and he would've actually agreed.

They moved to the couch after, Dean focused on editing the fuck out of his first draft and Cas intent on marking the fuck out of his students’ essays. Half an hour of it, and Dean was already stuck on a scene. His thoughts wandered elsewhere, thinking back to his meeting with Bela. What did she say he needed to do before their next meeting? Oh, right: come up with a title.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, and Cas hummed in response. “D’you want to help me come up with a title for this thing?”

“ _This is a Romcom_ ,” Cas replied without looking up from his current paper.

Dean snort-laughed. “Yeah, that’ll fly well. Seriously, help? I’m stuck.”

“What’s wrong with _This is a Romcom_?”

“You seriously want to call what’s practically our memoir _This is a Romcom_?”

“Why not? That’s what it is.”

Dean huffed. “Going by your logic, I might as well call it _Atypical Romcom_ or something.”

“ _A Typical Romcom_ ,” Cas echoed dully. “How is that any different from _This is a Romcom_?”

“No, I mean. _Atypical_ as in, you know, not normal. The _A_ and _typical_ stuck together?”

“Oh.” Cas sat beside Dean, and eyed Dean’s first draft. “Why would you want to name it to mean it’s anything but the genre you’re aiming for?”

“I don’t know, man. To stand out? That’s what you’ve got to do in this industry.” Dean eyed Cas’s piano in front of him, his acoustic neatly leaned against the wall beside it. So much had happened since Cas found out about Dean’s author self. A lot of shitty stuff happened too, but at the end of the day, he guessed the main characters of this story were together and happy. Huh. “I guess our lives _are_ pretty romcom-y, huh?”

Cas smiled, and kissed him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dean grinned back. He was right. “Yeah.” Dean kissed him on the forehead as he snuggled up against him, and let out a content sigh. He supposed this was how happy endings went, but it didn’t feel like an ending, really. They had the rest of their lives together, after all. “Yeah, me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of the compliments directed at Dean as an author throughout the fic is meant to be directed towards me. It'd be sort of weird if it was.
> 
> So. After two years, this fic is finally finished to its fullest glory. I'd like to thank everyone who stuck to this story patiently until its end, who gave me encouragements through kudos and comments, and for enjoying what I wrote. Without the overwhelming positive responses, I doubt I would've been able to finish telling this story. Constructive criticisms are welcome! 
> 
> Special shout out to:
> 
> [no_regrets_coyote](http://archiveofourown.org/users/no_regrets_coyote) and [Kat](http://protectcas.co.vu/), for giving me helpful advice. 
> 
> [Emilie](http://hellosaidthemoon-isafangirl.tumblr.com/), for supporting me with kind words throughout the last push, for generously beta-ing a scene, and for always being so enthusiastic for this story. ily Emilie.
> 
> [Alicia](http://huntingthehaggis.tumblr.com/), for letting me talk her ears (eyes?) off for the past year, for being the one I can always go to when it came to writing advice, for everything she's done that I could possibly think of. This fic wouldn't be complete without you.
> 
> And to everyone here: thank you, thank you, thank you.


End file.
